Let Myself Fall
by Scion of Kushiel
Summary: Susan Pevensie left her heart in Narnia, and now she's come back to claim it. But time moves on, as do people, and amidst a rising crisis, dreams can shatter so easily. Please R&R.
1. Prologue: Dance Round the Memory Tree

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything connected to the Chronicles of Narnia, so please don't get confused and sue me by mistake. All in good fun, nothing for profit.**

_A/N: Forgive the angstiness of the prologue, but I needed to set the scene. This is my first full Narnia fic, so please be kind and review! I really want to know what you think! That and reviews make me ecstatically, pathetically happy. Imagine a kitty suddenly finding a ribbon twitching just above her nose. Oh, and while I occasionally include minor details from the books, I'm really more following movieverse, just in case that warns anyone off._

** Prologue**

** Dance Round the Memory Tree**

_It was the time for goodbyes, but the words were lodged somewhere beneath her sternum. She'd had all morning to think on it, ever since Aslan had called her and Peter aside from the others, but if there was anything appropriate to be said, it was still eluding her. Glenstorm clasped the High King's wrist, a farewell to a comrade-in-arms. Susan watched Edmund and Lucy as they conducted themselves with dignity and grace, sure that they would be returning in some misty future._

_In fact, she looked at anything except the one thing she wanted most of all to see. A low rumble brought her attention to the great golden lion. His whiskers twitched, His eyes regarding her with weighty compassion. With that terrible love, she finally turned to him. _

_To Caspian._

_He was watching only her, the great sword Rhindon held loosely in his hands like he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. Taking a deep breath, she walked towards him, wishing he didn't look quite so handsome in his finery. Words were flying away again into his dark eyes so she started picking out the threads of embroidery in his sky blue tunic._

_"I'm glad we came back."_

_"I only wish we had more time together," he said softly. _

_She threw a glance to Peter, but couldn't read his expression. Forcing a smile, she turned back to the Telmarine King. "It would never have worked out anyway."_

_He shook his head, his honest confusion tearing at her heart. "I am thirteen hundred years older." Steeling herself, Susan took a few steps towards the tree._

_The great golden eyes watched her unblinkingly._

_Before she could think herself out of it, she was back in front of Caspian, her hand on his lightly stubbled jaw and her lips pressed against his. It was all too brief, her courage deserting her, but then his arms were around her. His breath caressed the curve of her neck, his hand trembling at the small of her back._

_Lucy's voice pulled her from her reverie, and from Edmund's answering tone, she was glad she missed the actual words. But it was Peter's face that brought her stepping towards the door of air. Peter, the High King, who understood what it meant to not come back._

_But oh, it was hard not to glance back over her shoulder. It took more strength that she thought she possessed to walk through the gap in the tree. The stinging cuts on her cheek vanished, her finery replaced by her dull school uniform, but in the tube station in the middle of dreary, mundane London, Susan Pevensie could swear the taste of him lingered._

--

Susan awoke with a start, one hand automatically pressed to her mouth to stifle any cries. Blinking in the darkness, she slowly took in her surroundings, letting each piece come together to remind her where she was.

There, in the larger bed across the tiny cabin, was her father's whuffling snore, a sound that always reminded her of Mister Beaver after a night at the pub with Badger. Beside that was her mother's garbled murmur, muffled by a pillow and her husband's arm. And there, underneath it all, the foreign hum of machinery, so familiar all her life and now- again- so strange. She was on the ship, on her way back from America.

And she was still dreaming of _him_.

With a silent sigh, she crept carefully out of bed and out of the cabin without waking her parents. Once in the corridor, she shrugged into her dressing gown. The deck rolled slightly beneath her bare feet, a sedate sway that she doubted most of the passengers could even feel. But she remembered voyages that lasted for months, on great wooden vessels that kissed the salt spray. She remembered sails billowing out with a snap from a sudden wind, and the shuddering groans as oarsmen maneuvered them back into a current. Her feet remembered, too.

In Narnia, there had been any number of cures for insomnia, but in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, on this unfamiliar metal ship? Her options were limited to chamomile and peppermint.

She chose the chamomile, striking a match to light the burner. The lounge was empty at this time of night- morning, she corrected herself, hearing the high bell strike. Everyone else was sleeping, but for the token night watch. She waited patiently for the tea to be ready, willing her scrambling mind to stillness.

It was an old exercise, albeit one that rarely worked. But it gave her something to do, something to steer her thoughts away from-…

There, all done. She poured it into a mug and blew out the flame, cutting off the propane that fueled it. The lounge fell back into darkness. Mug in hand, she sank down into one of the chaises, pulling her robe more tightly about her.

It had been a long summer, full of new sights and people, names and faces flying away to be replaced at each new stop. She missed her brothers and sister terribly; as much as they argued, they understood each other in a way no one else could. They already knew each other, and themselves, as the adults they would be. But only one of them could go to America, and Helen Pevensie had decreed that Susan would benefit most from it. Why, Susan still wasn't sure, except that Helen always introduced her as 'the pretty one'. Did she fancy a Yank as a son-in-law?

What would she think of a Telmarine?

The quick mouthful of tea was too hot; she let it scald her tongue before swallowing, feeling the thin liquid sear a trail down her throat. Bad thoughts lay in that direction.

The compass was betraying her, though, because bad thought lay in every direction. Because every thought led back to _him_. Sitting in the darkness with her mug of tea, Susan Pevensie ignored the tears trembling their way down her cheeks, sternly ordering herself not to cry.

A royal command.

And laughter mixed with the forbidden tears.

--

_"That's just it; we won't be coming back."_

_He could only stare at her, his hands curled loosely about the crimson leather scabbard of the High King's sword. He was grateful to Lucy for asking the question he couldn't, but the answer wasn't making much sense._

_Susan wasn't looking at him now, but h could see the same sorrow she's shown while walking with Aslan just an hour earlier. The others were making their farewells, but he had eyes only for her. He tried to say her name, but it came out only as breath._

_Finally, she walked towards him, her face more pale than usual amidst her dark curls. "I'm glad we came back," she said, essaying a smile._

_"I only wish we had more time together."_

_"We would never have worked anyway."_

_He gripped the scabbard more tightly, shaking his head. "Why not?" he asked, willing his voice not to crack._

_Her smile strengthened slightly. "I am thirteen hundred years older."_

_Caspian studied her face, trying to memorize every freckle scattered across her nose and cheeks. There were words he should be saying but he couldn't think of any of them. When she turned away, he tried to force his mouth to open, for anything to come out._

_But then she turned back and she was kissing him, softly and uncertainly. Her lips were soft against his, yielding. Sweet. The kiss was brief but he couldn't let her go. Still gripping the sword, he slid his arms around her and held her close. He buried his face in the curve of her neck, breathing in the scent that was uniquely her. _

_"Stay," he whispered, unsure if he was actually saying it out loud. "Please."_

_She pulled away without comment; perhaps he hadn't said it out loud after all._

_His heart thudded painfully in his chest as he watched her walk away. Away from Narnia, and away from him. He shifted his grip so the carved lion of the pommel bit into his palm. He couldn't follow. His place was here, with the people he had waged a war to win, the people he had sworn to lead and protect. As much as he wanted to walk after her, he could not._

_Aslan padded to his side, the great lion's whiskers twitching against his hand. He didn't say anything, but Caspian tried to take heart in His presence. _

_Tried._

_When she disappeared, he closed his eyes, her image lingering in that darkness._

--

Caspian opened his eyes slowly, staring at the ceiling over his bunk. A shielded candle by the door provided a sputtering, swaying light, not enough to truly illuminate, but it provided some relief.

His hand pressed against his chest, but nearly four years had lessened the panic he used to feel upon waking from those kinds of dreams. Lying against the mess of blankets, he held on to that final image. He still wished he'd given Lucy a message to pass on to her sister when the _Dawn Treader_ left her, Edmund, and Eustace at the End of the World, but what would he have said? Most would have been too personal, and he couldn't be sure she had actually felt the same. Or that it lasted if she had.

No, he knew it was right not to send word, but that didn't keep him from wishing.

Rolling from the bunk, Caspian paced about the main cabin, absently finger combing his hair back from his face. His feet took him to the small table he used as a desk and he paused, sifting through some of the stacked parchments. Most of them were new maps, sketched by Queen Lucy as they encountered new islands. It was a little difficult to read her handwriting at times; it seemed to be caught between two very different styles. King Edmund had laughed when he asked about it, saying that England taught Penmanship very differently from Old Narnia. His scarred, calloused fingers traced over the mapped currents, recalling each island.

Deathwater Island was still dim, an experience he thought it best not to remember in detail. But that unfathomable darkness…that he recalled clearly. An island where dreams come true, nightmares as well as fancies, except that nightmares weren't the only things that could cause pain. He'd heard some of the men discuss their terrors afterwards, but he had kept silent. It was too tempting to dwell on the sweetness of what might have been, what couldn't be.

Because he had seen _her_ in the black waters around that island, she whose voice and kiss were siren cries in his sleeping mind.

His fingers found their way underneath the piles to a long, red fletched arrow. If Queen Lucy had noticed it while staying in his cabin, she had been kind enough not to mention it. He drew it out and played idly with the shaft, watching the candlelight gleam off the brass nock. It was a dangerous souvenir, but even his self-discipline hadn't extended that far yet.

Throwing the arrow back onto the table with a disgusted sound, Caspian made his way back to the wide bunk, rummaging through the small cabinet above it. It held the fireflower cordial, once against left behind at Queen Lucy's departure, but it also held somewhat else, and it was this he sought. Sprawling across the bed, his back against the wallboards, he unscrewed the cap of an engraved silver flask.

It was a gift from Trumpkin, just before the voyage commenced. He'd only had a few drops of it since, as he privately considered the liquor to be halfway lethal; the fauns and satyrs were especially fond of it, but it was considered a test of strength among the Red Dwarves.

But now…now, with the ship leaving the End of the World and heading back towards Ramandu's Island, now with the night all around him and a four year old kiss lingering on his lips…now was a time to test the strength of the Red Dwarves.

The spirits seared his throat and stomach, but didn't erase the image from the backs of his eyes.


	2. Chapter 1: Prayer of the Refugee

**Disclaimer: Again, not mine. I only play with it, and unfortunately, have to put it back when I'm done.**

_A/N: Okies, now into the story! And, as always, please pop the button at the bottom and leave a review. We're talking seriously happy panda when you do that._

**Chapter One**

** Prayer for the Refugee**

Strange, how Professor Kirke's house was the closest she'd come to home since arriving back from Narnia. Peter had been there all summer, of course, studying for his exams, but the younger three had only gotten there this morning. If their parents thought their attachment to the professor at all odd, they let it pass without comment. Perhaps after four children and a war, they were simply grateful for some time alone together.

But the professor knew about Narnia. So long as they kept an ear out for the Macready, they could talk freely about it. Uncle Digory, as Lucy had taken to calling him, had even promised to introduce them to his oldest friend Polly, another Friend of Narnia.

But, for now, the Macready was off in the village, and the five Friends gathered around the professor's desk. Lucy curled in Peter's lap, something she was rapidly growing too big for, her hazel eyes shining. Edmund sprawled beside them in a chair, looking as excited as Lucy in his own laconic way.

"It had only been three years!" the youngest enthused, her hands clasped in her lap. "Can you believe it?"

Susan smiled slightly and sipped her tea, settling deeper into the settee. "So then tell us what happened."

And all in a rush, they did, with only occasional interruptions from the elder two and none at all from the professor.

"What, you mean Useless? Dreary cousin Useless?" Peter shook his head in amazement. "Useless in Narnia."

"Good for him, abolishing the slave trade. Beastly thing that."

"A leviathan? For sure?"

"Were they really as ugly as all that?"

"Ramandu…I remember Ramandu! The blue tinted star at the last edge of morning."

"A sea of lilies…that must have been stunning."

There was a long silence after they told of Reepicheep's final voyage and their return to Aunt Alberta's. Peter was trying to decide which question to ask first. Susan was trying not to ask anything at all.

"How peculiar," the professor noted finally. "It seems relative time is not relative at all."

"How was the blending going?" Peter demanded. "With so many centuries of hostility, I have a hard time imagining three years as enough to end it."

"Well, he was obviously comfortable enough to go on the voyage," pointed out Lucy.

Edmund cleared his throat, having allowed his sister to tell most of their story. Unlike her, he'd actually spoken to the young king of his progress. "It's not seamless, by any stretch, but it has so far stayed tension rather than violence. He left Trumpkin as Regent and General Presand in charge of the army, and the two have to reach an accord on any major decision. It's a balance the king seems to have faith in."

"So our friends are well?" Susan queried, deciding it was safe and neutral.

"They are well," her brother confirmed. "And thinking well of us."

Peter and Susan shared a wry look, the young man shaking his head. "Do you remember our voyages, Sus?"

"Mmm, the _Splendor Hyaline_. She was so sleek, singing over the waves like the sun in the morning." She laughed softly, finishing her mug. "Do you remember the last time we sailed her? Fleeing Calormen because the Tisroc's son tried to force my hand."

"Yes, the battle in Archenland!" cried Lucy. "When Prince Cor was found."

"We'd just had the Moles plant the apple orchard that fed us the last time," Edmund added. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, inadvertently messing up his dark hair.

Susan caught the change in his mood, raising her eyebrows at him. "Ed?"

His eyes reluctantly met hers. "It was our last time," he said quietly. "Lucy and I, it was our last time."

Nodding unhappily, Lucy snaked her arms around Peter's neck and buried her head in his shoulder. "Until the ending times," she whispered.

"What?"

"It was a dream I had, on board the _Dawn Treader_." She pushed a lock of ash brown hair behind one ear. "Aslan appeared in an endless field. He said not to worry, that all friends would meet again in the ending times."

"We'll just have to patient then."

They all- even the professor- gave Peter an incredulous look.

--

Late that night, long after everyone had gone to bed, Susan gave up trying to sleep and shrugged into her dressing gown. Tiptoeing out the door so as not to wake Lucy, she made her way down to the sprawling kitchen.

Wartime rationing was technically over, though some things were still difficult to acquire. She was longing for a thick cup of chocolate but that was still a luxury. Rather than sigh about it, she settled for a slice of thick-crusted bread and smothered it in apple butter.

"Ah, yes, I thought I'd find you here."

She looked up and smiled at the professor. "I've only been here a day, sir."

Dressed in a tartan robe and slippers, his white hair wisping wildly about his face, Professor Kirke puttered about the kitchen fixing himself a cup of tea. "I've spent a lifetime studying people, my dear girl, and I've learned a few things in that time. This last visit, you did something none of the rest of us have done."

"What's that?"

"Narnia claims a piece of us before we leave," he continued as if he hadn't heard. "It creates a space in us that it fills with light and hope, a strength to be a beacon in the darkest of all times. But we leave something of ourselves, as well. A legacy, a story, a history. You, my dear girl, left somewhat else."

He sat down across from her at the table and she almost thought he meant to leave it there. "Sir?"

"It's a painful thing, isn't it, living in one place when you've left your heart behind in another?"

Susan stared at him, painfully aware of her flaming cheeks. "What did Peter-"

"No, no, Peter didn't say a word." He adjusted his spectacles, reaching into his robe for a pipe that wasn't there. "Nor have the others, before your thoughts go haring off in that direction."

She couldn't help but blink at him, her half-eaten bread lying forgotten on her plate. "Then how-"

"You remind me of someone else, someone who was in much the same dilemma." His eyes twinkled underneath the bushy eyebrows, but there was a compassion there as well. The professor was an old man and had seen a great deal, but there was always a hint of the wise little boy who'd seen the singing of Narnia. He reached into his breast pocket again, this time drawing out something on a thin silver chain. "Do you recognize it?" he asked, laying it in her open palm.

"It's a key," she said stupidly.

His low chuckle washed soothingly over her. "Yes, my dear, it's a key. But not just any key."

Tracing a finger over the ornate handle, Susan inspected it more closely. It was old and slender, deceptively heavy for all its delicacy. Perhaps it had once been silver, but time had worn it to a mottled black and silver grey. "What does it go to?"

"A great many things. Originally it was made for a letter box, the kind elegant young ladies used to save their correspondence. Ladies were great letter writers back in my day, you know."

Susan grinned; she loved the professor's tangents, the more so because he always got back to the point. Unlike her instructors at school.

"In time, it came to mean something far more. You see, Susan, my Aunt Letty fell in love with a young naval officer. She was right about your age, too, or so I was told. She used to keep all of his letters in that little box, under lock and key. They were to be married, but then his ship sank in a storm, a hurricane off the coast of the American Carolinas. Took all hands down with her."

"Oh," she breathed, fingers closing unconsciously about the key.

"My Aunt Letty was a great deal like you, my dear girl. A caregiver down to her bones, smart as a whip, very logical and efficient. And loyal. Very, very loyal." He caught her gaze and held it, no trace of humor there now. Only a deep and terrible kindness. "My aunt loved her officer till the day she died, and remained loyal to him. As my mother said, she only fell once, but she never stopped falling. And now I see that same look in you."

Opening her mouth, Susan found that you couldn't think of anything to say.

Professor Kirke tapped the hand holding the key. "Long after the letters stopped coming, Aunt Letty still wore this key on a simple chain round her neck. She said the memory of that love gave her strength for all her days." His gnarled, wrinkled hands closed about hers. "Susan, there are many women who have lost their loved ones, and most turn bitter and cold. Let his remind you that love it a blessing and a strength. Do not lock it away, but treasure it." Leaning back, he adjusted his spectacles again, this time a bit nervously. "Perhaps I should instead tell you that you'll find someone else to love, but I happen to believe that your heart knows itself better than we do. Just don't lock yourself away."

Susan couldn't do anything but nod, tears glimmering in her azure eyes. She fumbled with the catch, finally succeeding in clasping it around her throat. The teeth hung just above the hollow of her breasts.

"Susan?"

She blinked away the tears to see Lucy standing in the doorway in her robe, one hand covering a yawn.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes," she mumbled, wiping quickly at her face. "The professor and I were just talking."

"Yes, yes, and it's off to bed for me," the old man chuckled. He winked at the older girl and set his untouched mug before her. "Goodnight, Susan. Goodnight, Lucy."

"Goodnight, sir," they chorused, watching him shuffle out of the kitchen.

The two sisters shared a long look. Lucy hesitantly came closer, running a hand over Susan's disheveled sleep braid. "Sus, are you really all right?"

Seeing the genuine concern in the wise, ageless eyes, Susan couldn't lie. "No," she answered honestly, "but I'll be well enough in time."

"Is it-"

"Let's not talk about it, please, Lu?" she whispered.

The youngest Pevensie nodded and pressed a kiss to her sister's cheek. "Come on to bed, and I'll tell you what I couldn't tell the boys."

"Couldn't tell the boys?" she echoed with a small laugh, setting the mug and plate in the sink. "Do I need to have them defend your honor?"

"No, just my ego." They held hands as they walked quietly through the halls to their room. "I was tempted by one of the spells in Coriakin's book," she confessed. "It would have made me beautiful, even more than you."

"Lu, I'm not-"

"But you were. And you will be again." They fell silent passing the boys' room, not speaking again until they were safely in bed. They cuddled together on one mattress like they hadn't done in years, when Lucy was still little and having nightmares, simply enjoying the closeness. "Even when I'm older, I'm not so lovely as you are. But then I remembered how sad you were whenever someone declared was over you, and I realized I didn't want it."

"I'm proud of you, Luce, wiser than any of the rest of us. Aslan should have named you Queen Lucy the Wise and Valiant."

"Too much of a mouthful," she disagreed.

"What, like High King Peter the Magnificent?"

Lucy laughed a bit shrilly, shoving her hand over her mouth to stifle it. "He really could have left that last bit off."

"Probably," added Susan, imitating Trumpkin's gruff voice.

With the blanket thrown over their heads to muffle the sound, the two girls giggled and gossiped deep into the early morning, falling asleep only with the pearly grey light of dawn.

--

But the next evening, Susan once again taking refuge on her own. She hadn't forgotten the professor's words, but she knew it would take time to follow them. She had dressed for bed before changing her mind and was that way still. Her mother had given her a silky white nightgown that fell a few inches shy of her knees, and which clashed horribly with the faded blue dressing gown and sensible knee-high socks of grey wool.

But tucked away on a flat section of the roof, there was no one to see her or complain about it. She and Peter had discovered this place their first summer here, one the younger two had been too small to reach before. She wrapped the soft flannel gown about her knees and watched the stars twinkle into sight.

A soft scraping behind her made her smile. "I thought you were playing chess with Edmund," she greeted without turning around.

"Oh, like that ever lasts long." Peter hunkered down beside her, his long legs dangling a bit over the edge of the roof. "He beats the pants off me every time."

"Mmm, maybe he should have been High King then?" He mock-glared at her and she laughed. "Then again, maybe not."

"What are you doing up here, Sus?"

"Thinking." Her fingers brushed against the key at her throat. "I didn't want to bother the younger ones. We've had a few months to adjust to not going back; it's still new for them."

"But?"

"But," she sighed. A few more stars came out over the fields. "If you had a way back, would you take it?"

He stared at her, his blue eyes incredulous. "Of course!"

But his sister held up one hand for caution. "Even if it meant never returning to England? Never seeing us again? If it meant staying in Narnia for the rest of your life, apart from your family, would you do it?"

Peter blinked and tried to imagine it, knotting his hands together over one knee. "I don't know," he admitted near inaudibly. "It seems like it would be a high price only to be there alone. And yet…" He studied his sister's face as she watched the stars dancing overhead. "I suppose it would depend on what I was going back to."

She nodded as if she had been expecting that answer.

"Sus? Have you found a way back, then?"

"No," she whispered. "But I can't help thinking on it."

"I know how that goes." He reached out and took her hand, feeling the stripe of callous across her palm from gripping a bow. She, at least, had been able to continue in her area expertise while at school. "Would you?"

She squeezed his hand and didn't answer.

"Susan." Peter waited to continue until she was actually looking at him. "You would, wouldn't you?"

"It's all academic now, anyway. We can't go back."

"You love him that much?"

"Yes," she said simply.

"You know what Mother always says about wartime romances."

"That they never last? Some do." Her other hand curled about the key, feeling the pattern press into her skin. "You get to know someone under those conditions and you sort of know everything about them. You see the best and the worst all at once."

"I thought-"

"I know. I tried to think that, too. It didn't work." Sighing, she shook her head and rested her cheek on her knees. "The first time was hard. Of course it was, we'd been there for fifteen years! We'd been kings and queens, with all the glitter and responsibility that entails, and all of a sudden it's back to freckles and changing voices and uniforms. But this time, I can't stop thinking about him. It's only been three years. Four," she corrected herself absently, "with the time Lu and Ed spent there."

"And don't forget cousin Eustace," Peter reminded her with a grimace.

"I hope this new and improved Eustace drives Alberta nuts."

"Remember Pattertwig?" Susan blinked at him until he elaborated. "That barmy Squirrel?"

"The one Reepicheep kept yelling at?"

"That's the one."

She tried to find the connection and grudgingly settled on the word 'nuts'. "Small wonder you irritate your professors."

"He offered to gather nuts against a siege," he recalled. "Sus, if we'd done what _he'd_ said, what you said, what do you suppose would have happened?"

"Pete, that's impossible to know."

"I know, but what do you think?"

She took her time in answering, choosing her words carefully. "I think if we hadn't lost those soldier's at Miraz's castle, we wouldn't have been desperate enough to send Lucy for Aslan. By the time we were, it might have been too late. I supported digging in because I'm the cautious one, remember? I hated fighting the first time we were there."

"So what happened between visits?"

"Not between visits; when we there the second time. I realized when we were, uh," she cleared her throat playfully, "drowning Trumpkin that my skill could defend those who needed protection. As a queen, if I had any skill that could be used for my people, I needed to use it, hang personal scruples." She smiled crookedly, shrugging. "It's not a pretty reason, I know, but there it is."

"War isn't pretty. The reasons for actions within it shouldn't be pretty either."

"You'll never succeed in politics with that philosophy."

He laughed, as she'd intended, and ran a hand through his hair. He'd let it grow shaggy over the summer and he was already dreading the necessary haircut before going off to university. But then he sobered, watching her from the corner of his eye. "Why do you suppose he suggested digging in?"

"He was raised in the belief that the Telmarines were unbeatable, that they conquered whatever they touched. Too, they were his own people," she reminded him. "It's one thing to defend yourself when your people come attacking; it's another thing entirely to go on the offensive against them."

They were dancing around his name and she was grateful beyond words for her brother's tact. It was hard enough speaking of him, but to actually speak his name felt like defining what she could never have.

The pair sat in silence long into the deepening night, each lost within their own, similar thoughts. Finally, Peter stood and dusted himself off, crouching so that his voice wouldn't carry. "If you get a chance to go back, Sus, take it. Like Lucy said, we'll all meet again in the ending times, and if you love him that much…You should go back if you can." Kissing her cheek, he turned and crawled back into the attic.

Susan wasn't sure how long she sat out there, watching the distant lights in the village gradually wink out. Only one remained burning and she knew it to be the young vicar; he and Peter had become friends, and he claimed words found him more easily in the deep stillness of night.

She sighed and pushed her hair back from her face. She felt silly, thinking on what she was about to do, but she thought fleetingly of Lucy and realized her younger sister wouldn't feel silly at all. Perhaps it was time to take some lessons from her.

Taking a deep breath, she let it out in a low whisper. "Aslan." Her voice found strength and continued. "Aslan, I know You have reasons for what You say and do, and I know they're often reasons that we can't be expected to understand. And I know You said I'd learned all that Narnia needed to teach me, but…but…but I feel like I have to remember how to breathe," she confessed, feeling absurdly better just for having finally said it out loud. "I feel like I have to force my blood through my veins because the hearts that directs it isn't there anymore. Aslan, I love him, and if there's any way, any way at all, to be with him, then please," she pleaded, hearing her voice thicken and crack.

A low rumble brought her attention to her right.

"Aslan," she breathed. "Oh, Aslan."

He stood, in all His glory, on a section of roof separated by a gap of open air, sitting back on His haunches with His tail wrapped about His paws like a housecat. "I rarely appear in this form in your world, Daughter of Eve," He told her gravely, "but it's to this name you have appealed, and so I have come."

"Oh, Aslan," she repeated, scrambling to her feet, at a loss for words.

"Is your heart so very sore, dear one?"

"You know our hearts better than we can," she laughed softly. "I love him. If You tell me there's someone here for me, I…I'll try to believe You, I'll try to have faith, but…but I love him. I feel like I belong with him."

He regarded her solemnly, the great golden eyes unblinking, and she knew He was judging the truth of her words. "You asked your brother the price he would pay," He said finally. "Is this the price you are willing to pay as well?"

"It is," she whispered, hardly daring to hope. "I know I will miss them, and they me, but we'll meet again someday. I know that."

The Lion seemed almost to sigh, His head drooping. "Two hearts so connected I will not keep apart," He murmured, more to Himself than to her. "But things may not be as you expect them to be."

"Aslan, even aside from- from him, Narnia is my home. It is the only place I have ever felt completely myself. The only place where people see past my face. Even if ten thousand years have passed in the last week, I would rather be in Narnia than anywhere else."

"Then come to me, dear one."

"Oh dear." She nervously eyed the gap between them, four feet if it was an inch. "Oh dear, this kind of blind faith has always been more Lucy's thing that mine."

"I know," He agreed, a trace of humor layering his mellifluous voice.

She eyed it again. "Would you think less of me if I run?"

His deep chuckle wrapped around her, easing her fears. "Walk, run, jump, fly, or crawl, I will accept all who seek me, and welcome all who come to me."

"One last question?"

He waited patiently.

"What will happen here?"

"The Friends of Narnia will know the truth, but to everyone else, you will have died in a tragic accident in America. "

So her siblings would know she'd made it safely to Narnia. After that was anyone's guess, but that was one bit of reassurance they would have. She felt a brief pang of guilt for the pain her parents would feel, mourning a daughter who wasn't really dead, but she also knew they'd recover in time. Gripping the key with one hand, she backed up to the very edge of the roof and started running. She launched off the further end, floating across the gap.

And then she was falling. Her scream lodged in her throat but before she could give it voice, she was landing in something cold and wet. Her feet touched bottom and she kicked up, breaking the surface with a gasp. Treading water, Susan looked all around her, trying to place herself. When she did, she burst out laughing.

"You're as playful as a kitten!" she yelled.

A rumbling purr tickled her ears.

Still laughing, Susan swam to the northern shore of the River Rush. It was in fact the exact spot where King Miraz's bridge had once stood, and where his army had been defeated. It had been where they'd seen Aslan again, and where _he_ had been confirmed as a King of Narnia. Shivering in her sodden nightgown and robe, she pulled herself up onto a flat-topped boulder on the pebbled shore. She would have to figure out what to do next- for once she hadn't been thinking that far ahead- but for now, she fully intended to lie on the large rock, soaking up sun to dry off, and breathing the sweet, clean air of Narnia.

She was home.


	3. Chapter 2: A Breath of Fresh Air

**Disclaimer: Usual stuff, it's not mine, I just tinker.**

_A/N: On a slightly random note, the seemingly random line jumps? For some reason, when I upload the file from my computer, it's preserving the page breaks, and I'm not technosavvy enough to figure out how to fix it. And please review! Reviews feed the muse, and a satisfied muse is a productive muse._

**Chapter Two**

** A Breath of Fresh Air**

When her clothing was more or less dry- more less than more- Susan began making plans. She needed to find a Narnian, preferably an Animal, so she could find out how much time had passed. Too, she needed to know which castle to head for. Was the government still lodged in the Telmarine city? Or had they rebuilt Cair Paravel? Lucy and Edmund hadn't said, but she hoped it was the latter.

The first order of business, however, was to get moving. To that end, she searched for and found a fist-sized rock with a sharp, jagged edge. Peeling off her socks, she flattened them over the boulder and used the makeshift knife to saw off the feet. The tube section would protect her legs from ankle to knee, but she'd have faster going without the feet getting soggy or having anything stick in them. She did some more scavenging among the rocks and filled the pockets of her robe with round, good sized stones. Turning the sash into a slingshot was a little awkward, but she wasn't about to go gallivanting off without some form of protection.

When she had everything ready, she knelt at the water's edge and scooped up handfuls to drink, working against the thirst she knew she would incur.

"The fish here get stranger and stranger, don't they?"

She whirled around, fumbling to fit a stone into the cradle, and saw two Animals prowling from the edge of trees. The Wolf was a young male, still gangly with growth, with chevrons of black through his thick grey fur. He Leopard was more sleek, more graceful, and he watched her with disinterested eyes.

It was the Wolf who had spoken, and he did so now again. "Still, she seems like a familiar fish."

Accepting in faith that they weren't going to attack her- it was considered somewhat rude for Animals to talk to their food- Susan placed the slingshot back into her pocket. "I am Queen Susan."

The Leopard flicked his tail. "Easy to say."

She propped her hands on her hips, calmly meeting his gaze. She was well aware of her appearance: her hair drying into a tangled mess, her faded robe open over a still damp nightie and cut off socks. But she also knew what she was and she wasn't going to let how she looked deny that. "What, you don't think anyone's going to look at me and not instantly think Queen of Narnia?"

"The cub has spirit," the Wolf observed, tongue lolling out in a lupine laugh.

"Most fools do," replied the other repressively.

"Laugh as you like, friends," she said easily, trudging up to the fringe of trees. She hadn't gone very far before she had two shadows at her side. "Change your mind?"

"You were not expected back, as I recall."

"I wasn't. Circumstances shifted."

He sneezed, whiskers twitching, and she suspected him of laughing. "I am called Swiftly," he offered.

"You can call me Mog."

"Mog?" she repeated incredulously, accompanied by another sneezing laugh from the Leopard. "That seems, um…less…dignified? than Wolves usually choose."

His ears laid back flat against his skull in a muted snarl. "I thought it would be more pleasant," he sulked.

"More pleasant than?"

"Tell the cub the truth," Swiftly advised. "Let her decide for herself which memories are too painful to recall."

Mog whined, his head dropping down lower between his legs. "I am named after an ancestor you had encounters with," he explained reluctantly. "Unpleasant encounters."

"Maugrim?" She shrugged at his whine. "Your name is your own. Any associations it has are purely coincidental."

Both Susan and Swiftly pretended not to notice the tail wagging, and the young woman decided to go ahead and call the Wolf Mog. It seemed to make him more comfortable, and it certainly seemed to fit.

"Where are we headed?" inquired the Leopard.

"We?"

"Cubs need looking after, even when they wear a crown."

"She's not wearing a crown," Mog protested.

Susan grinned and shook her head. "Is the Court as the Telmarine city?"

"No, at Cair Paravel. The king had it rebuilt according to old sketches before he left."

"He hasn't returned yet?"

"Not yet." Swiftly twined about a tree, scratching his back against the bark. "You knew he was away."

"Queen Lucy and King Edmund shared part of his voyage." She ducked under a low branch rather than brush it aside. She was enjoying the word play with the Leopard; it reminded her of the old days, fencing phrases with ambassadors. "To Cair Paravel then, I suppose."

"You'll keep up then, I suppose."

Susan quickly learned that Swiftly wasn't kidding. He expected her to be soft- which she was- but that didn't mean he was going to be indulgent. Over the next three days, she learned how to alternate between a loping run and a slow jog. It was a ground-eating pace, and not one she was comfortable with; her legs and lungs felt like they were on fire. She also learned to put up with it without complaint, requesting a halt only when it was most essential.

It was hard going, and perhaps unnecessary, but she didn't argue. She didn't want to be 'the pretty one' anymore. Peter and Edmund weren't here, she couldn't hide behind them and her skirts anymore. It wasn't that she didn't have faith in the new king's ability to protect his people, but that old habits die hard. She was a Queen of Narnia- she had a duty to protect and defend.

They stopped at night. They could work on her speed, strength, and stamina, but there wasn't much they could do about her lamentable lack of night sight. No fire, but she was more than warm enough. It was late spring, balmy and dry. More to the point, Mog curled into a tight ball against her stomach while Swiftly sprawled across her back. Mog snored, but Swiftly purred.

Their long runs also gave her a chance to get to know her companions. Her initial impression of Mog was mostly correct. He was a clumsy, overeager puppy in the body of a mostly grown Wolf. He was playful and endearing, eager to please and endlessly energetic. He'd left his Pack, journeying alone until Swiftly took his under paw. If Susan were to deliberately design an opposite to the Maugrim who served the White Witch, she couldn't come much closer than Mog.

Swiftly was more of an enigma, but then, he was a cat. The Leopard was dark-minded and cynical, easily amused by the human and Wolf. He would have made an excellent diplomat, truth be told, if he had cared at all. But he didn't. Though Swiftly was a veteran of the last war, it was less for patriotic fervor that it was for entertainment value.

For all that, it was the Leopard who gave her the most recent news from the castle. The blending of the Telmarine and Narnian peoples was not going quite as well as the king had portrayed to Edmund. It wasn't only that the two peoples were having trouble learning to live with each other. A significant splinter of Telmarines had left the city, heading north and west along the coast. Then, too, the Black Dwarves had returned to their most ancient animosities, merely accentuating them with the new ones. They had retreated to the northeastern mountains, but only after stirring hatred in their wake. There had been a few skirmishes in the beginning, but none recently. That unspoken truce was what let the king sail off in search of the seven missing lords.

"Nostalgia?" Susan asked, sipping from a stream at one of their pauses. "Or does he need the friendly voices on Council that badly?"

"A bit of both, perhaps. And he's young."

"Young and foolish?" she laughed, stretching and kneading her calves.

"It's a common trait," he told her dryly.

As Mog was busy snapping at butterflies, she didn't try to argue.

She didn't know the constellations anymore, she realized. They'd changed over thirteen hundred years. Stars had retired, changed places. She would have to learn the new lines and names.

Swiftly called a halt before the sun set the third day, with Cair Paravel's spires in clear view. "Rest," he replied to her questioning look. "Sleep. We'll sneak in come morning."

"Why are we sneaking in?"

He just looked at her.

She sighed. Her feet were filthy and blistered, her socks streaked with mud and dirty nearly to her knees. The flannel robe was torn from clutching branches, her face and chest lightly sunburnt, and she was distinctly aware 

that she'd been heavily sweating for three days without bathing. "I suppose it doesn't exactly shout 'all hail her Majesty'."

"Not so much."

Her stomach growled as they bedded down but she ignored it. Other than a few fruits, she hadn't eaten since arriving. She was sure her companions would have hunted for her if she had asked, but she had no way to cook it, and her hunger wasn't quite desperate enough to eat raw meat. The castle would have food, though.

It wasn't until she was falling asleep that she realized Swiftly had never asked why she'd come back.

As it turned out, though, they didn't have to worry about sneaking in on their own. Swiftly's growl woke her early the next morning, sending her scrambling to her feet with slingshot in hand.

"Peace, Queen Susan," said a deep voice.

Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she smiled. "Glenstorm, a pleasure to see you."

"And you." The grave centaur nodded, his arms crossed against his muscled chest. "A star fell three nights ago," he told her, "and we knew to expect you."

"Did you tell anyone else?"

"No, your Majesty. We were not certain…"

She flashed a grin and tried to finger-comb her mess of hair. "What state I'd be in and how long I'd be staying?" The grin faded. "As to my state, I'm grateful. As for the other…" She took a deep breath, looking him in the eye. "I won't be leaving again."

He gave her a slow smile. "That is good news indeed."

"I wouldn't."

Glenstorm looked puzzled until Mog crept out sheepishly from between his legs, head drooped in a silent whine. The centaur quickly recovered his aplomb. "Perhaps you would like to rest before being presented."

Laughing quietly, Susan twitched the flannel robe, which was far from its better days. "I would appreciate that, yes."

With Swiftly and Mog skulking at her heels, Susan walked alongside Glenstorm. The centaur was comfortable with silence; intimidated by his presence, Mog was not inclined to his usual chatter. When the road branched up to wind through the city and up the cliff to the castle, they continued on the lower round around the base.

"The supply tunnels?" asked Susan.

"They are more discreet."

"Discreet is good."

"Your chambers have been restored as best the records described," he told her, ducking his head to enter the tunnel.

"Why were they restored?"

"It was the king's wish to preserve them, as well as those of the other Kings and Queens of Old."

She let that pass without comment; it led her too close to dangerous thoughts.

Every castle she'd ever been in, whether her in Narnia or back in England, had two distinct sets of hallways: the main halls, which residents and guests used, and the servant halls, threading everywhere in the castle. It was barely dawn and the back corridors were busy; men, woman, and Narnians bustled about with their heads down as they went about their tasks. They automatically cleared a path for Glenstorm but didn't look all that closely at his companions.

When they finally had to leave the hidden hallways, they were in a nearly deserted section of the castle. With the Pevensies gone and the king still on his voyage, there wasn't much need to frequent the Royal Wing. Airing out the rooms every few days and dusting from time to time would suffice.

Glenstorm paused outside the double doors to Susan's rooms, shifting until he stood as a guard. "Maids will be here shortly with your bath," he announced. "Take your time. When you are ready, come out and we'll go to the Regent."

"Thank you." She glanced down at her journey-mates.

Swiftly yawned and folded into a graceful coil on the mosaic floor. "Puppy, sit."

Mog sighed, collapsing in a heap next to the Leopard.

Hiding her smile, Susan opened one of the doors and walked into her rooms. They weren't exactly as she remembered, that would be impossible, but they were close enough to be familiar. The sitting room, with its clutch of chairs and divans, was upholstered in a powder blue, elegant designs picked out in darker threads. Tapestries and paintings hung along the walls, leaving spaces for gold-worked sconces and candle branches.

Her fingers trailed over the backs of the chair as she passed through into her private study. The bookshelves had been rebuilt but left empty, though the desk was supplied with ink, quills, and sheafs of scraped parchment. From there, she moved into the bedchamber.

And gasped.

A massive four poster bed was pushed against one wall. Sheer drapes of cream and gold fell gracefully from a canopy hook on the high ceiling, twining about the posts before fluttering to the plush cream carpet. A bedspread in a deep royal blue tucked around the thick feather mattresses, gold embroidery sprawling out in elegant designs along the coverlet. A small table and chair sat before the hearth, and she could remember eating breakfast at a table just like it. A door stood open across the way, leading into the dressing room. She could see wardrobes and armoires, and just the edge of a large bronze bathing tub.

The maids hadn't arrived yet with the water so she shrugged out of her robe, laying it across the back of the chair. Her feet sinking into the carpet, she crossed the room and out through the double glass doors onto the balcony.

She used to spend hours on a balcony just like this, jutting out over the edge of the cliff. She leaned against the railing, staring out over the crashing sea. The balcony faced due east, directly into the rising sun. He would come from that direction, heralded by a billow of sail. High up over the crescent of beach, the smell of salt was light and tangy, sweeter almost than the heavy brine of the nearby port.

This had been her place to think, to escape. Her place to breathe and be. This was the sanctuary where no suitor dared trespass, where talk of politics could die away and she could just watch the stars dance over the water.

"Your Majesty!"

Susan whirled about, breaking into a smile. "Mercedes!" She walked back into the room, leaving the doors open behind her. The young woman bobbing a curtsey was the same girl who'd been assigned to her the last time; the symmetry almost made her feel as if she hadn't left. "How is your young man?"

Mercedes blushed and ducked her head, but not fast enough to hide a sheepish smile. "My husband now," she answered quietly. "We married two years ago, your Majesty." She shook her head and pulled herself together. "Your bath is being poured, my lady. Is there anything else you require?"

"Is it possible to send from some breakfast?"

"Of course, my lady."

The maid bustled off efficiently, leaving Susan to wander into the dressing room, where footmen emptied basins of steaming water into the tub under the watchful eye of another maid. The girl sprinkled scented oil into the water from a cut-glass bottle, releasing a subtle fragrance of white heather into the air. "It is nearly ready, your Majesty," she announced with a curtsey.

"Thank you. What is your name?"

"Ofelia, your Majesty."

Emptying the final basin into the tub, the footmen bobbed their heads and departed. Susan peeled off her nightgown and socks, sinking down into the water with a sigh. The heat seeped into her skin, easing the aches of running and sleeping on the ground. She closed her eyes as Ofelia poured more water over her head.

She scrubbed away the accumulated sweat and dirt as the maid worked patiently on her hair. When the dark locks were clean and brushed, they were pinned atop her head and she settled back for a long soak.

Mercedes returned with a tray laden with sweetened porridge, soft rolls and butter, fried eggs, bacon, fried seasoned potatoes, a glass of apple juice, and a cup of thick chocolate. Susan's stomach gave an audible growl. The maid laughed and set the tray on a short stool by the tub, the perfect height for the queen to reach it.

"Thank you," she said fervently, attacking the food with gusto. The maids giggled and began sorting through the wardrobes, pulling out gowns for her approval. There weren't many, but she was still surprised by the number. More had to have been made after her departure, and she didn't want to think about what that might indicate.

For herself, she was inclined to go with something simple, but Mercedes hesitantly counseled against that. "It is strange, your coming back so suddenly, your Majesty," she explained. "You will want to make a strong impression with your official return, especially with King Caspian still away."

It did make sense. She studied their selections with a practiced eye. "The hunter green, then, with the amber and gold trim."

Ofelia grinned and began putting the others away. "An excellent choice, my lady."

Finally she couldn't put it off anymore and rose from the bath, stepping into a drying sheet. The footmen had built a fire while she was soaking so she sank down onto the carpet before the hearth, patiently squeezing the moisture out of her hair with a cloth. There wasn't time for it to dry completely, but at least it would be a little easier to work with.

With the help of both maids, Susan began layering herself into the finery. First came the plain silk shift, slithering down to her knees. Then came two lace-edged petticoats, followed by the amber silk under dress. Over that they tied the hunter green overskirt, the heavy velvet split open against the amber, the panels edged in stiff gold embroidery. The last piece of clothing was a sleeveless bodice to match the skirt, the stomacher picked out in the same gold pattern. Mercedes laced it up tightly, and Susan felt rather proud of herself for only losing her balance once.

"Jewelry, my lady?"

"Just a gold circlet; more wouldn't be appropriate without his Majesty's consent."

She scandalized both of them by insisting on going barefoot, but the long skirts hid her feet from view and the carpet and stone were cool and soothing against the tender skin. Besides, she was fairly sure they were too swollen to fit anything but slippers anyway. She brushed out her hair, leaving it down around her shoulders, and carefully positioned the slender ring of gold about her brow.

If the woman staring at her from the mirror wasn't quite the Queen Susan she remembered, it was at least a start. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "All right," she announced under her breath. "I'm ready."

Making her way to the outermost room, Susan opened the door and promptly received a crotchful of Wolf snout. "You smell different," Mog informed her, tail wagging ecstatically at the discovery.

Swiftly snarled and smacked the other Animal away. "Do not do that again."

Torn between laughing and blushing, Susan occupied herself with shaking out her skirts and checking for drool marks. Finding none, she turned to Glenstorm, whose expression she couldn't read. "On to Regent Trumpkin then?" He hesitated, bringing a smile to her face. "I know it's customary for ladies to walk first, but I must ask you to lead the way, at least until I can learn the new layout of the castle."

His lips twitched in what would have been a smile on anyone else. "I begin to see why you were such a successful queen, in peace as well as war."

"It mostly kept us out of trouble."

"Doubtful," came Swiftly's succinct reply.

"The Regent is holding audience in one of the lesser halls," Glenstorm continued, ignoring the commentary. "He chose not to use the Great Hall in the king's absence."

"Probably wise," she noted. "It's a visible symbol that he's guarding the throne, rather than intending to usurp it. A show of faith. Does he keep to the hours the king established before his departure?"

"He adheres very closely to the routine, yes."

"Good for him."

They came to a halt outside a set of open doors, the guards' eyes widening at the sight of Susan. Glenstorm looked down at her from the nearly two foot height difference. "There are many present in the hall. We can return later, if you wish."

"Rumor is already spreading," she disagreed. "I'm not sneaking around, Glenstorm, I'm coming home. And I'm going to do it proudly and openly."

The centaur nodded in approval. "Then let us go forward."

This time, Susan did accept the lead, walking at the head of their odd little quartet. Mog kept close to her heels, nearly making her trip. The herald was a Telmarine, not one she recognized, but before she could give her name he swept a low bow.

"Y-y-your-"

"Ssh," she interrupted quietly. "There is a petition being heard. Simply add me to the end of your list and let the order continue unaltered."

"B-b-but-"

"Let the order continue unaltered," she repeated, a trace of steel in her voice. "I am not here to impose chaos." He still seemed hesitant, so she smiled wryly. "I will accept any words of censure of your behalf."

With a sigh of relief, the herald straightened from his bow.

But Susan's attempt at discretion utterly failed. Her name spread from lip to lip like wildfire, igniting the hall in a flurry of noise until every eye turned to the door to see her. The herald gave her an apologetic shrug and knocked his staff three times against the marble floor. "Her Majesty, Queen Susan the Gentle of Narnia!" he cried in a great voice that rang through the vaults.

In a fluid wash of motion that quite took her breath away, the assembly bowed to her. On a plain wooden chair on the dais, Trumpkin slid from his seat, a mixture of shock, awe, and delight sneaking through his long ginger beard. Spreading her skirts, Susan sank into a deep curtsey in reply.

"Is it really her?" she heard a voice say, rather louder than its owner probably intended.

Though her expression was serene, Susan's heart was pounding in her throat. This was, in many ways, the first obstacle to her return. If the Telmarines grew angry at her presence…but she would deal with that if the situation arose. There was no use borrowing trouble. She stepped out gravely down the empty space, taking care to keep her bare feet concealed by her skirts.

Trumpkin met her halfway, looking unchanged by the past four years. If his clothing was cleaner and of finer quality, well, that was to be expected, but she had a feeling that he was, in all essentials, still the same Trumpkin. "It is," he muttered.

"It is," she affirmed gently, wishing it wouldn't be quite so insulting to kneel down at eye level. "It really is me, Trumpkin."

"I thought-"

"Would it be easier to believe if I shot off an arrow and called you my DLF?"

His ears turned a brilliant red and he scratched at his scalp. "You can't blame me for being confused." He pointed out gruffly.

"I can't and I don't," she laughed. She raised her voice, pitching it to carry across the space. "My return was unexpected, I know, but I am returned. I am come home, this time to stay."

Trumpkin squinted up at her during the cheers that followed her words. "And the others?"

She shook her head, feeling a pang of guilt. "I'm afraid not. It's only me, Trumpkin." She nodded as his expression shifted. "I promise to explain, but I would prefer to do it with less of an audience."

"The king is away."

"I know."

His hand scratched some more at his scalp. "Will you-"

"No," she answered, guessing his question. "He appointed you as Regent. It is not my place to overset that, nor would I if it were. But, if you should need me, I am here."

It was strange, how easily she fell back into the formal parlance of Court. But she saw him take comfort in it, and from the continuing cheers, she thought she might have surmounted the first obstacle.

The morning audience was cancelled, but no one seemed to be grumbling excessively. She stayed in the hall while Trumpkin spoke to a few immediate concerns, simply letting herself be seen. This, too, was part of coming home.

They adjourned to Trumpkin's study, a womb-like room comfortably situated for a dwarf. There were chairs and cushions scattered about for guests of various shapes and sizes, and it was upon one of these cushions that Susan chose to sit, allowing Mog to curl up at her knee. The Wolf seemed somewhat intimidated by his surroundings. She ran her fingers through the furry scruff, causing his tail to thump minutely against her leg. Swiftly sprawled curved behind her back, his chin resting on her thigh.

They were joined by General Presand, the Telmarine in charge of the army, Lord Ronlin, the castle Steward, and Peepiceek, Interim Chief Mouse during Reepicheep's absence. She felt another pang thinking of Reepicheep's journey beyond the End of the World, but that was not her story to tell.

General Presand cleared his throat nervously. He'd been appointed after Glozelle left Narnia on Aslan's offer; he'd never interacted with the ancient queen, although his leg had interacted with one of her arrows at Miraz's castle. He seemed comfortable with the other Narnians, which Susan took to be a good sign, but he was decidedly uncomfortable with her. The Steward was more pragmatic, but then, practicality and adaptability were requirements of his job. If anything, he seemed pleased that they'd been prepared to receive her without warning.

"Your Majesty, has trouble arisen?" the General inquired, coming up with no other explanation for her presence.

"If it has, I do not know of it," she replied, continuing to pet Mog. "I have not been summoned, General."

"Then why are you here?" asked Trumpkin bluntly, scowling when he realized how that sounded. "I mean, it's not that…well, what I meant to say…" he trailed off at her soft laugh. "It is odd."

"I know. Put simply, Trumpkin, I asked to come back and Aslan allowed me. But, it is final. I will no longer be venturing between worlds."

"You'll be staying here, then? In Cair Paravel?"

"For a time," she hedged cautiously. "Things may have to change with the king's return."

The Steward looked somewhat scandalized. "Your Majesty, with all due respect, surely you cannot believe King Caspian would behave in such a manner."

"Not at all, and that is not what I meant to suggest, only that my residing here may not be what is best for all involved." She brushed a hand against the key, drawing strength from it. "The balance between Telmarines and Narnians is still a tenuous one, and my arrival may disrupt that. I did not return to bring chaos. I am a Queen of Narnia, yes, but I am an ancient one; it is King Caspian X who rules here now. I will not do anything to endanger that."

Trumpkin eyed her speculatively, his hands clasped against his stomach. "So you came back just to come home."

She met his gaze, allowing him to see what she could not say. "There are many different types of home."

"And despite a prior claim, you acknowledge me as Regent?"

"I do."

He leaned forward against the sturdy, unornamented desk. "Then I ask that you remain here, at least until his Majesty's return. This will give us time to provide you with what you need."

"I'll have seamstresses, cobblers, and jewelers sent to you, your Majesty," announced Lord Ronlin, his eyes darting left and right as he planned. "The archivist will be able to provide you with any texts you require for your study. Unless you object, Mercedes and Ofelia will be assigned as your maids."

Susan smiled wryly. She doubted he would much care for the comparison, but the Steward reminded her a great deal of Mrs Beaver.

"Your Majesty."

She glanced over to Peepiceek, who thus far had remained silent. He was nearly a foot tall, barely smaller than Reepicheep, but his fur was a deep sable with two arrows of white about his eyes. "Sir Knight?"

"With your permission, my lady, I would place my Mice as your guard. As you said, these are tenuous times. It would not do for a lady to be unescorted."

"I would be honored by your protection, Sir Peepiceek," she said gravely. She had seen the Mice fight valiantly at Aslan's How, and while they might have an overinflated sense of dignity, she could not be in better hands.

Or paws.

"The mail and leather armor that was made for me- is it still to be found?"

Trumpkin, Presand, and Peepiceek all stared at her. Glenstorm was, as usual, impassive and impossible to read. The General found his voice first. "So you do expect trouble."

"No." Taking a deep breath, Susan tried to decide upon precisely the right words, ones that would explain without frightening. "Aslan always has His reasons," she began slowly, "most of which we can never hope to understand. He has His reasons for allowing me to come back; I highly doubt it was solely for my asking. Until we know more, I would simply rather be prepared for any eventuality. Even the ones I'd rather not think about."

--

Over the course of the next month, Susan learned her way about the rebuilt Cair Paravel. The structure itself was nearly the same as she remembered, but the purposes of many of the rooms and halls had changed. 

Peepiceek was a patient guide, and significantly less excitable than Reepicheep. There some differences in the building, mostly external. The original Cair Paravel had not been designed as a fortress, as its easy destruction had proven. The Telmarines, however, built for defensibility first and beauty second. They'd reached a good compromise, though, which was something to give hope. Perhaps it didn't soar quite as much as it once had, but neither did it huddle and enfold.

But she didn't spend the entire time studying the architecture. She also got to know the lords and ladies of the Court as she hadn't been able to before. There were several young ladies who attached themselves to her as informal ladies-in-waiting, filling her sitting room with gossip and laughter. The older women of Court, those who had been close to Queen Prunaprismia, still eyed her somewhat askance for a fortnight.

That changed at the fest to welcome Doctor Cornelius back from Archenland. He had been there some six months, working with King Corlas' astronomers to make accurate charts of the seasonal night skies. He greeted Susan with a bear-like embrace and a deep chuckle. "Welcome home, gentle lady."

"And to you, Professor," she teased.

His pouchy blue eyes twinkled behind his pince-nez. "You have been much thought of."

She didn't have an answer for that short of blushing and stammering.

They had just reached the dessert course when Lady Drazina let out a low cry. The pregnant young woman, wife of Council Member Lord Giorgio, clutched her abdomen and looked about with panicked eyes.

Susan immediately pushed back her chair, going to the young woman not many years older than herself. "Lady Drazina, are you well?"

The auburn haired girl shook her head, gritting her teeth against a wave of pain.

"Ah." Susan signaled two guards from the nearest door. "Please assist Lady Drazina to the infirmary," she instructed lowly. "Then send a messenger to Beruna, to retrieve Lord Giorgio." Drazina whimpered and Susan rubbed her back soothingly. "Peace, lady, we'll see you safely through."

The queen stayed with her in the infirmary all through the long and difficult labor, pausing only long enough to throw and apron over her finery. She had done this many times in the past, with humans and Narnians alike, but no one now knew anything of that. History rarely speaks of the birthing chamber. She sponged the girl off between contractions, telling her silly stories to distract her from the pain. Late the next morning, a baby girl entered the world with a lusty wail.

Susan held her for a time to give the exhausted mother a chance to clean up and recover. She carried the blanket-wrapped infant up to the window, looking out over cliffs leading to the southern expanse. "When my family and I were crowned here, many years ago, Aslan ceded to me the radiant southern sun." The baby scrunched up her face, waving her arms within the cloth. "Yes, I know," she laughed, "I never got it either. The sun moves east to west, not north to south. But look. See how the light strikes off the ocean, then glitters off the fractured rocks. See how the long grasses gleam and ripple. I would give you the same, little one. May you always be surrounded by sweetness and light, may the rocks themselves spark fire to give you warmth, and may the night be as welcoming and fearless as the day."

Drazina named the child Sushonna, after the queen, and spelled her gratitude to all the ladies of Court and to her husband. Even the oldest termagants found it difficult to think ill of Susan after that.

Early one morning, Susan took her hot chocolate out onto the balcony, enjoying the eastern breeze that teased about her hair and dressing gown. She loved watching the gulls wheel and dive over the water, swooping down to catch their breakfasts. For a moment she thought she still had granules of sleep in her eyes, for there was a smudge on the horizon. She blinked and rubbed her eyes, but it was still there.

Balancing the cup and saucer on the railing, she retrieved her small telescope from her study, training it on the horizon. "Sail," she breathed. "That's a sail." A few minutes' patience brought the ship closer within the scope, giving her more detail. The ship was sleek, with a dragon's head and wings, but the vessel had clearly seen the better part of a long voyage. "That has to be the _Dawn Treader_!"

Susan raced through to her bedchamber, the chocolate entirely forgotten. "Mercedes! Ofelia! The blue gown I wore upon my departure! Is it still here?"

The maids looked up from making the bed, curious as to what could make their lady so flustered. "Yes, your Majesty," Mercedes answered. "Do you wish to wear it this day?"

"Yes!"

Susan was ordinarily a very easy mistress, simple to serve and simple to please, but the two maids found themselves hard pressed that morning. The queen was lost in a flutter of nerves, and it took all their combined skill to soothe her into some semblance of calm.

This was it. She'd see him before the day was out. A few months for her, a few years for him. Did he still remember their kiss? Did he still think of her? Doctor Cornelius had assured her he did, though never so explicitly. Her heart was throbbing painfully. Why was it so hard to breathe?

She yanked open the door to find Trumpkin with his hand raised to knock. The dwarf blinked owlishly, a slow smile forming at the sight of her. "I see you've heard."

A rosy blush stained her pale cheeks. "I saw the sail from my balcony," she murmured.

Trumpkin studied the nervous queen, his hands deep in the pockets of his vest. Her complexion had cleared some, showing fewer freckles across her nose and cheeks, her hair falling about her face in dark, loose curls. Azure eyes were brought into stark relief by the embroidered blue and silver gown, her bare shoulders rising from the white under dress. He didn't recognize the mottled key at her throat, but he did recognize the stark terror in her eyes. Normally, that kind of look was reserved for suicide missions and uneven battles.

With a gruff chuckle, he reached out and patted her arm. "Have faith, lass. He's not forgot you."

"I thought it might be that," yawned Swiftly, baring his teeth.

"Does everyone know?" she asked ruefully, twisting the braided silver ring on her thumb.

"No. But those of us who call you both friend? It is none so easy to hide from us. And it was a very public goodbye." He patted her arm again. "Come then. We're off to the dock to await him."

They were not alone. All business had been set aside to celebrate the long awaited homecoming, the entire city crowded along the streets leading down to the harbor. There was a hushed expectancy, an anxiety that fell far beyond words.

Susan stood under a hastily constructed awning with the other principles of Court. The Bulgy Bear, Marshall of the Lists, had been given the honor of carrying the king's crown upon a velvet cushion, more to keep 

him from sucking his paw than because the privilege was appropriate. Mog sat between Glenstorm's front hooves, tail thwapping happily away. Every so often, Swiftly swiped at him with sheathed claws to make him stop, but it wasn't ever long before the Wolf was doing it again.

Keeping to the back of the awning, Susan allowed the Telmarine lords to crowd before her, despite Peepiceek's protests that the Queen's place was in front beside Trumpkin. She kept telling herself that she would take it, she would, just as soon as her hands stopped shaking. She was grateful to Glenstorm, whose bulk shielded her from the view of the city-dwellers packed along the base of the cliffs.

The _Dawn Treader_ drifted serenely into port, the assembly cheering wildly when her nose bumped gently against the swell posts. A handful of sailors jumped over the side to make her fast, guiding the ramp down and anchoring it in place.

And then _he_ appeared at the railing, and Susan could only stare. He was older, of course, and grown comfortably into his skin and status. His face and hands were deeply tanned by the voyage, and his dark hair fell longer than she remembered. The beginnings of a moustache and goatee framed his mouth, little more than stubble. She wasn't sure she liked that piece, but overall, he was even more handsome than before. He wore the brilliant gold and scarlet of a king of Narnia, but in the Telmarine style, a crisp white shirt gleaming through the slashes.

Susan closed her eyes, one hand on Glenstorm's back for support as she forced herself to breathe. This was it. She'd come back, she'd come home, and now she could tell him everything she hadn't been able to before.

When she opened her eyes, Caspian was kneeling before the awning, receiving his crown back from Trumpkin's hands. "Welcome home, your Majesty," the dwarf cried over the cheering. "But who is this?"

What? Susan shifted until she found a gap between Lord Giorgio and General Presand. Standing next to Caspian was the most stunning, ethereal beauty she'd ever seen, her cool grey eyes traveling dispassionately over the assembly.

Caspian cleared his throat and raised a hand for silence, the other reaching to the woman. "This is Lahatiel, daughter of the star Ramandu," he announced for all to hear, "and my wife-to-be."


	4. Chapter 3: Without You

**Disclaimer: The usual stuff, you know the drill. As I have nothing, suing me would waste your time more than mine.**

_A/N: So I hear I'm evil? Heeheehee. See how much your reviews motivate me? Keep it up, and so will I!_

** Chapter Three**

** Without You**

Only Glenstorm's swift movement kept Susan from falling when all the breath left her body. His arm slipped around her shoulders, his hand gripping her upper arm tightly. "Strength," he murmured, too low for anyone else to hear.

She leaned against his side, watching mutely as Caspian assisted his lady in mounting a sedate strawberry roan- the same roan, in fact, that Susan had ridden down from the castle. He swung up onto Destrier, more ungainly than she remembered. Then again, he'd been sailing for a full year, he probably hadn't had any chances to practice his seat. Trumpkin mounted his sturdy pony, shooting Susan a brief, concerned look.

She shook her head, listlessly waving him on. With another quick look, he obeyed, followed by the Telmarine lords. Glenstorm didn't let her go until they were alone in the awning. She swayed slightly, but kept her feet.

"I hadn't even thought about it," she whispered in horror. She laughed weakly, hearing the hysterical edge to her voice and hating it. "All those other things I worried about, all the details I was afraid of, and I never even imagined!"

At her feet, Mog whined miserably, nudging her knee with his nose. Swiftly stretched luxuriously, claws splintering the wooden surface. "I can eat him if you like, cub," the Leopard offered casually. "If you give me a day or two, I can even make it look like an accident."

"Swiftly, it's not that I don't appreciate the thought, but…not really helping!"

"Suit yourself."

"Although I am curious: how do you accidentally eat someone?"

"Carefully."

Susan gave a hiccupping laugh, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from her eyes. "Right," she gasped. Was it possible for your heart to actually, physically break?

"What are you going to do?" asked Mog, sounding young and small.

"Trumpkin asked me to be part of the ceremony," she whispered dully. "I have to get back with the procession."

Glenstorm frowned, folding his arms across his bare chest. "Given the circumstances-"

"I am not running away," Susan snapped, more sharply than she'd intended. She took a deep breath. "I have a part in the ceremony. I have a duty to perform. If I cannot do that, I do not deserve my title."

"And after?"

She shook her head, feeling more lost than she could ever recall. "I don't know," she confessed, fighting not to lose control of her breathing. "I guess I'll figure it out when I get there."

The centaur's face returned to its customary lack of expression as he looked down at her. "Not even the Telmarines would contest that you have a prior claim."

"He chose her." The words were physically painful to utter but they had to be said to make it real.

"He didn't know you were a choice."

"And I'm not. He chose her, they are engaged to be married."

"There are many-"

"And I would hope to high heaven I'm not one of them!" she cried, clutching at the key round her neck. She took a deep breath, then another, trying to make it habit again. "I will return to the castle, I will do my duty in the ceremony, and I will find my way from there. I knew there would be a price."

"Aslan would not-"

"I knew there would be a price," she repeated firmly, her gaze steady despite the glittering sheen. "I'm not going to run from it just because I find I don't like it."

"Then allow me the honor of carrying you back."

She stared up at him, her eyes wide. "That would be demeaning for you, to carry a human like you were a mute horse."

"If I thought it demeaning, I would not have offered. And I have carried you before," he reminded her.

"In the heat of battle, yes, but in a parade?"

"Queen Susan the Gentle." He waited until she looked at him fully before continuing, and she wondered if that was where Peter had acquired the mannerism. "Gentleness requires far more strength than most possess, and right now, yours is being sorely tried. I freely offer mine for you to lean against. Allow me the honor of being there for you."

"I thank you," she managed through her choked throat.

Clasping her hand, he pulled her up easily, giving her a moment to situate herself. She spread her skirts neatly about her legs, resting one hand on his shoulder and the other behind her, against his broad equine back. "Are you ready?"

"Do I have a choice?" She sighed at his silence. "A real choice, Glenstorm. I'm ready."

At the head of the procession, Caspian waved to his jubilant subjects, an easy grin on his face. General Presand held the reins to Lahatiel's mount, as she didn't know what to do with them. The young king turned thoughtfully to his Regent. "You seem awfully quiet, Trumpkin. Is aught amiss?"

"I'm not sure yet," came the mystifying reply.

Caspian listened to the waves of sound from either side of them, noticing something odd. "Why are they cheering behind us?"

"They're excited."

The Telmarine might even have left it at that had he not heard a voice in the crowd quite clearly yell "Queen Susan! Queen Susan!"

The blood drained from Caspian's face as he turned to stare at his uncomfortable Regent. His mouth opened but words failed to come, his hands tightening on the reins. Destrier danced in place as the bit pulled against his mouth, rearing back to try and relieve the pressure. "Destrier, easy, boy. Destrier!"

The stallion neighed stridently and kept prancing, tossing his head frantically. They were dancing in tight circles. Facing the rest of the procession, Destrier reared again, and that was when Caspian saw her. Saw her perfectly lovely and there. Saw her atop Glenstorm's back and there. Saw her there, real and present and there.

He lost his grip on the reins and fell back with a startled cry, clattering painfully onto the cobblestone. He shot to his feet, automatically grabbing for the horse's reins, but he didn't take his eyes off of her.

The procession halted but Glenstorm did not, the others pushing aside to make way for him. Mog and Swiftly prowled at his side, heads low and shoulders hunched as if they were hunting. Half a dozen Mice scampered about them, keeping pace with the larger Animals without an effort. The centaur drew up next to the king and stopped.

Susan essayed a weak smile, half-wishing she were on a horse so she could have an excuse to fidget with something. "Welcome home," she said quietly.

"What are you doing here?"

She glanced away from him, pretending not to hear Swiftly's warning growl. "You might want to consider getting back on your horse. People are starting to wonder if something's wrong."

Properly ashamed of himself, Destrier stood still while Caspian numbly remounted. The stallion whickered and lipped innocently at Susan's skirt.

"Your Majesties, shall we continue?" Trumpkin asked neutrally. But as Glenstorm and Destrier set back into a walk, he dropped a few feet behind them in a none-so-subtle message.

As she had a thousand times before to cover up lesser ills, Susan plastered a huge smile on her face and waved to everyone crushed together on the sides of the road. She'd once ridden a parade with a flaring migraine, so why did this feel infinitely worse? She could almost feel Caspian stewing at her side, but it seemed he, too, had learning something about the public façade. When they reached the courtyard of Cair Paravel and grooms came to take Destrier and the other mounts, Glenstorm simply continued into the castle with Susan still on his back.

"Trumpkin," Caspian gritted out.

The dwarf shook his head. "Not now. You have a throne waiting."

Savagely repressing the need to swear, the king turned to General Presand. "General, would you please act as escort to the Lady Lahatiel during the ceremony?"

"It will be my honor, your Majesty," he said gravely, his black eyes darting between king and Regent.

Caspian nodded sharply and followed Trumpkin into the castle. They stopped just outside the doors to the Great Hall, the dwarf keeping the young man from entering with a good grip on his sleeve. "What is it?"

"I asked her to take part in this ceremony," Trumpkin told him sternly. "So behave."

The doors opened before he retort, or defend himself, so Caspian quickly pulled himself into what he hoped was a regal expression. The highest ranking lords and ladies, foreign dignitaries, and clutches of Narnians lined the huge room, all dressed in their finest. At the far end of the hall, just before the great glass windows, stood the four white marble thrones, just as in the days of old. One dais lower and centered was his father's compass point throne, and it was before this that Susan stood.

It was the same dress, he realized dazedly. Did this mean he was dreaming? Her hands seemed to float easily at her sides but he could see the lines of tension in her arms and shoulders. He walked towards her as if in a trance, dimly aware of Trumpkin behind him.

When he stepped up onto the dais, she said not a word, simply sliding aside with a deep curtsey. Caspian took a deep breath and sat down in his throne for the first time in a year.

It wasn't exactly the homecoming he'd imagined, nor the reunion he'd dreamed of.

--

Ordinarily, there would have been a feast to celebrate the return, but the Steward wisely chose to postpone it a few days. Not only would this give the kitchens more time, it would also give the travelers a chance to rest and recover. When Caspian heard this, he ordered a small dinner in his study for his inner circle, having places added for the two ladies.

He still didn't know why she was here. There had been a million and one things to attend to after the re-investiture, and somehow she'd managed to slip away in the maelstrom. Gritting his teeth, he sent a page to her, requesting her presence in his study. While waiting for her, the others arrived, standing about the room while the meal was set.

Lahatiel, still in her dove grey robes from the island, stood near the window, looking past the city to the ocean. Her white-blonde hair fell in a straight, shining mass nearly to her feet; she had to flick a few locks off her shoulder whenever she shifted her weight. General Presand, Lord Giorgio, and Captain Drinian stood together in a knot near the door, conversing in low tones. Trumpkin, Trufflehunter, and Doctor Cornelius were similarly clumped nearer the desk.

The door opened to frame Susan, calm and composed, with Peepiceek perched on Swiftly's back. Ripeeku, a pure white Mouse, sat atop Mog. If it made an odd picture, no one dared laugh. She inclined her head in response to the men's' bows, her eyes flicking to the window. When the star's daughter returned the look, Susan dipped into a small curtsey, the precise depth for a non-sovereign queen to give to a visiting lady of lesser rank.

Lahatiel simply nodded.

Susan raised her eyebrows at the slight, but considered what Lucy and Edmund had told her. As the daughter of a retired star, sequestered on an island beyond the edge of human contact, the elegant blonde woman probably had no experience with such expectations. Well, she'd learn, she thought with grim humor.

She turned to the badge, slipping into her first real smile of the day. "Trufflehunter," she greeted fondly. "I was sorry not to have seen you when you arrived this afternoon."

The Animal hummed with pleasure, rubbing his cheek against her hand in the curious manner of badgers. "Your Majesty, a very great pleasure to have you back with us."

Caspian pushed back his chair and moved around the desk. "Now that we are all arrived, let us eat."

Lahatiel's cool grey eyes glanced between Caspian and Susan, studying each in turn. Her flawless face revealed nothing of her thoughts, but when she moved, it was not to the table. It was to the door. "I find the travel has quite wearied me," she explained quietly, "and robbed me of my appetite. I will retire." And she left, without asking permission, waiting for acknowledgement, or allowing for escort.

Captain Drinian rolled his eyes, apparently used to her abrupt behavior.

Deciding it best to leave the departure without comment, they all drifted to the table. Susan wasn't sure if the woman was actually that tired or if he simply wanted to avoid what had the potential to be an ugly scene. Either way, she was grateful. Her absence would make it easier for her to do what she needed to do.

"Will you tell us of your voyage, your Majesty?" Trumpkin asked before Caspian could direct a question to Susan.

Giving his Regent a hard look, Caspian nonetheless obliged, applying often to the captain for assistance. Susan listened with the same rapt attention as the others; though she had heard pieces of it from her siblings, this was the bigger story, and from different perspectives.

When the king described leaving Reepicheep and the three children at the End of the World, Peepiceek gave the queen an injured look. "My lady, you said naught of this!"

"It was not my story to tell, Sir Knight," she said gently, "I who had it only secondhand. It is the story of those who sailed with him, and who carry his final messages back with them."

The Mouse was satisfied with that and turned his attention back to the king.

Caspian noted the significance of the exchange but dutifully continued, though he glossed over most of the journey back as uneventful. They all noted that he skipped entirely over their second sojourn at Ramandu's Island; none of them brought it up.

There followed the contemplative silence that arrives with the end of every well told tale, broken only by the scrape and clatter of utensils against plates. Finally, the king looked across at Susan, seated at the opposite end of the table. "I believe it is time for another long story, your Majesty."

"Mine, I fear, is none so long as yours," she said lightly, forcing her tone to stay even. "Lucy and Edmund told us of their journey with you soon after their return. I spoke with Aslan, asking Him to let me come home, and He agreed. Thus, here I am."

Trumpkin swallowed a grape too quickly and spent the next few minutes attempting not to choke on it. He glowered at her when he recovered. She simply arched an eyebrow.

"What her Majesty has not said," announced the professor in his soft, deep voice, "is that her return to Narnia is permanent."

"Permanent?" Caspian echoed, staring down the table at her.

She fought not to blush, occupying herself with folding her napkin in her lap until the impulse passed. "It was the price of returning when I was not expected. Narnia is my home; England is now just a place I used to live."

Trumpkin's glower was growing darker by the second.

"But why?"

"Because this is home," she said simply. "Let me hasten to add that I am not challenging your rule in any way. It has been centuries since my duties here were official; I do not seek to change that."

General Presand cleared his throat, fingers absently wiping crumbs from his moustache. Despite his initial misgivings, he'd learned a deep respect for the ancient queen. "What will you do, my lady?"

She'd been wondering the same thing all afternoon, reaching a decision of sorts only moments before the page had summoned her. She continued fussing with her napkin so she wouldn't have to see their faces. "There used to be a hunting lodge in LanternWaste," she answered. "I'm sure it's in ruins now, but I thought to talk with the dwarves to help me repair it. It is an easy distance should I ever be needed, but removed enough that it should minimize confusion."

Trumpkin shook his head sadly, but did not join the flurry of protests. She was doing what she thought best for her people, not matter the personal pain it engendered; he could not speak against that. Four years ago he might have, but that would have been before he'd seen the two queens ride off into certain death on nothing but faith. That would have been before he'd spent a year as Regent. Now, he could only turn away from the barely concealed sorrow in her eyes.

Susan sat silently through the layered arguments, picking out the individual strands as they repeated themselves. The general didn't want her so far from protection. Lord Giorgio was offering a home in Beruna on behalf of his lady wife, Trufflehunter volunteering to share his den. Doctor Cornelius asked if it was absolutely necessary for her to leave.

Peepiceek stood on the table and drew his sword, the ring of the blade as it left the sheath demanding attention. He twisted it into a sharp salute. "Your Majesty, with your permission? My Mice and I have appointed ourselves as Queen Susan's personal guard. I should like to have that confirmed. Wheresoever she goes, my Mice and I will follow, pledged to her service and protection."

"If-" Caspian swallowed hard and tried again. "If that is your wish, Chief Mouse, then I will release you to it."

"Chief Mouse?" Peepiceek asked, tail and ears drooping with dismay. "Chief Mouse?"

Caspian nodded gravely. "Reepicheep sent back with me his desire that you be confirmed in your position, as he will not be returning from beyond the End of the World."

Ripeeku flipped up onto the table, saluting with a flourish of rapier and tail. "Chief!"

Peepiceek slowly twisted to look up at Susan, who inclined her head briefly. "I know you will continue his tradition of honor, bravery, and skill, just as Reepicheep took up the banner of those before him."

The king watched her with wide eyes, his gaze softening despite his continuing confusion. Who was this creature of dignity and grace? He had only known her in battle and duress, and fallen in love with her on that alone. How much harder- he gave himself a stern mental shake, pulling reluctantly away from the dangerous thoughts.

For the first time that day, Caspian looked directly into the vivid blue eyes that had haunted his dreams for four years. "If it is your wish to leave," he said slowly, forcing the words past the urge to beg her to stay, "we will not try to dissuade you. What we will ask is that you remain here with us until all is in readiness for you at your destination."

The ghost of a smile floated about her lips, and he wished- for neither the first nor last time- that he could more easily decipher her expression. "I thank you." It seemed as though she would say something else, but she turned to Lord Giorgio and inquired after his wife and daughter, who had returned to Beruna.

Caspian blinked rapidly, anger flaring in the pit of his stomach. Did she feel nothing? Had he spent the last four years pining after a dream that no longer existed?

A sharp knock preceded the opening of the door, and a faun's head appeared in the space. "Your Majesty?"

"Yes?"

The creature blushed and shook his head, anxiously shifting from hoof to hoof. "Sorry, your Majesty, the other Majesty. Queen Susan."

"What is it, Caper?" she asked, already rising from her seat.

"Lady Caramiano is asking for you in the infirmary."

A frown flashed across her face and she walked quickly to the door. Hesitating, she glanced back over her shoulder at Caspian. "I'm glad you've come home safe." With that, she closed the door behind her.

Mog whined from under the vacant chair. "She left without us."

"A human birthing room is no place for an Animal, especially not so silly a puppy as you," replied Swiftly cuttingly.

Caspian looked to Trumpkin for an explanation, feeling increasingly over his head. "Why is she being asked for in the infirmary? She is not a healer."

"She has a comforting presence," answered Giorgio, much to the king's surprise. "She assisted my lady all through her labor."

"Then why was she frowning?"

"If Lady Caramiano is in the infirmary, her time has come upon her too early for the babe to survive."

"Oh." Resting his elbows on the table, Caspian buried his head in his hands. "I do not understand this at all."

Trumpkin snorted a humorless laugh. "And you think we can explain it to you?"

--

He was exhausted. Beyond exhausted. Weariness settled deep into his bones, eating at his strength until he wanted nothing more than to collapse in his bed. A real bed, nearly the first in a year. But every time he so much as sat on the mattress, his thoughts preyed at him until he leapt back to his feet, pacing through his bedchambers.

Swearing savagely under his breath, Caspian yanked on a pair of trousers, fumbling with the buttons. His feet bare and his nightshirt hanging nearly to his knees, the king padded silently past the dozing guard and out into the main palace. His breathing eased with every step he took away from the Royal Wing.

Why was she here? Hadn't he finally accepted that he couldn't have her? He'd put it off, but he's known we would have to marry and produce an heir for the throne, and the longer he put it off, the more nervous his people would become. The star's daughter had seemed the perfect choice, neither Telmarine nor Narnian nor of any other nation, and breathtakingly lovely.

But no more so than…he sighed, shaking his head. Susan was no older than she had been before, and was already more lovely than the usual way. And she would only grow more beautiful. He'd heard stories all his life of the splendor of the Queen of Narnia, but thought them exaggerated like any others; King Edmund, of all people, had assured him they weren't.

Both paragons of beauty, and they couldn't look more different. Lahatiel was all pale elegance, her translucent skin and white-blonde hair gleaming in moonlight like she was a star herself. She was taller even than Caspian and reed slender, her nearly colorless eyes watching everything with cool detachment.

But Susan, with her creamy skin that liked to freckle with sunlight, eyes a truer blue than any sapphire, her dark hair…she was a study of contrasts. He'd thought her hair black when he first met her, or maybe a deep brown, but then he'd seen her in a spill of sun and noticed how the light shone through a core of pure red. He'd been fascinated by her hair. And her freckles.

No, it was no use trying to compare them in appearance. It he was painfully honest with himself, he knew a large part of choosing Lahatiel had been little she resembled Susan in any way. He knew almost nothing about her, ever after their long voyage, and though it pained him to admit it, he preferred it that way. He knew they could live together amiably; he would do his duty and she would do hers, and everything would be fine.

Except Susan was back, never to leave, the love he'd finally convinced himself to stop hoping for. She slept closer to him than his bride-to-be, their doors separated only by a few feet. He didn't know the Queen Susan of Court, but he could still see his Susan in her.

His restless feet brought him into the gardens, then pebbled path digging into the calloused soles. He froze at the low murmur of voices, cursing himself for not having even a dagger with him. Then he recognized them and relaxed. "Trumpkin?" he called softly, rounding the corner. "Glenstorm?"

The two Narnians stopped their conversation to look at him, the dwarf atop a marble bench. Glenstorm spoke first, his voice as deep as the shadows in which they stood. "Is not your Majesty weary?"

"Far beyond," he admitted, sinking down onto the bench. "But sleep eludes me." He shook his hair back from his face. "It has been a long day, are not the two of you tired as well?"

"Rest can wait," the centaur rumbled. "There were more immediate concerns."

"What-" He followed Trumpkin's gaze skyward, almost unsurprised when he recognized Susan's balcony.

She stood against the railing. He couldn't see her closely, but from the repetitive motion of her arm, he suspected she was brushing her hair. After a time, she stopped and leaned forward, her pale face glowing in the moonlight.

"Lady Caramiano?" he asked, tearing his eyes away from the young woman overhead.

"Lost the babe," Trumpkin answered. "Her Majesty stayed with her until she fell asleep."

A sudden howl split the night, mournful and solitary. It hovered expectantly in the air, fading to a distant sorrow.

"That is a good Wolf," Glenstorm noted.

"Why is he howling?"

"Because his friend has no more tears for her own sake."

"I should-"

"You'll do nothing of the sort," Trumpkin disagreed. "She made an impossible choice today, and did no right by herself in it. Allow her the pride and dignity of knowing it's the best thing for everyone else."

"She had no way of knowing how much time had passed."

"You're right."

"Then why did she-"

Trumpkin regarded him solemnly. "Rather than asking us that, your Majesty, perhaps you should ask yourself what made Narnia more home than her family."

"I do not know how to fix this," the young man admitted in a whisper.

"She already did. Functional doesn't mean perfect."

There was a startled yip from the balcony, followed by a low growl and Susan's soft laugh.

Caspian's hand pressed against his chest, feeling his heart beat erratically beneath the palm. He stared up at her through the darkness while she, unaware of his presence, looked out over the ocean in the direction of the Lone Islands and beyond, where he'd made a choice and unknowingly damned them both.


	5. Chapter 4: Heart Strings

**Disclaimer: Nothing new here. Nothing owned, either.**

_A/N: As always, please review! The more you say, the more excited I get; the more excited I get, the faster I write. Oh, and Senini, Miniver- you make my day. Quite possibly my month. THANK YOU._

** Chapter Four**

** Heart Strings**

With the balcony doors open to catch the breeze, Susan sat alone in her sitting room, the heavy harp resting against her shoulder. She'd subtly encouraged the young ladies that they should get to know their future queen. Mog and Swiftly were outside the city, engaged in what Mog happily called 'pouncing lessons'- but only when Swiftly couldn't hear him. For the moment, she had peace and quiet and privacy, broken only by the rippling sounds of the harp.

It used to be expected of proper young ladies to learn an instrument, and the queens had been no exception. Lucy had prevailed upon Tumnus to teach her the aulos, learning the oldest Narnian songs, but Susan had chosen the harp, partly for its elegance, mostly because it made use of the calluses already there from archery. Neither she nor Lucy had ever had the soft hands of nobles. She closed her eyes and listened to the notes spilling from the strings, not thinking, not feeling, Just listening.

Mercedes knocked gently on the table, pulling her from her reverie. "My lady, it's time to prepare."

"Prepare? Oh, yes." With a sigh, Susan rocked the harp back onto its cradle. The homecoming feast had been last night; tonight was the ball. Had it really only been two days? She'd been avoiding Caspian as much as possible during that time, she wasn't too proud to admit it. Never to the extent that rumors could form, but it was a very large castle; it was almost too easy to find reasons to be at the opposite end of it.

Susan bathed thoroughly, enjoying the soak. With all the hassle and work that went into it, she couldn't bathe every day, so she always enjoyed it when she could. Her dark hair was washed and brushed, Ofelia beginning to twine it into an elaborate style before she was even out of the tub. She dressed without much excitement; this wasn't exactly something she wanted to be celebrating.

Restringing the key onto a golden chain, Susan paced slowly through the sitting room, clasping the necklace about her throat. "Can you send Peepiceek in to me, please?"

Bobbing a curtsey, Mercedes went to the door. To strike a balance between protection and privacy, the Mice had constructed a nest in the alcove immediately across the hall. Within seconds, the Chief Mouse came bounding in, his whiskers twitching alertly. "Are you prepared, my lady?"

"Nearly," she answered. "I have something I wish to give you first."

"Your Majesty?"

She knelt down on the carpet, cautious of her skirts, and held out her hand. On her palm rested a plan gold ear-ring, a short sapphire-dyed feather curling out from a cunning catch. "It does not do for the Chief Mouse to be without insignia," she told him. "As you are my guard, I have made it in my colors."

His whiskers quivering with emotion, Peepiceek eased the ring over his left ear, bowing deeply. "You honor me, my lady."

"We guard each other's honor, Sir Knight," she replied, rising and shaking out her skirts. "That is as it should be."

"Sir Trumpkin has asked to escort you down to the ball, your Majesty. He is waiting outside."

"Then by all means, let us join him."

Trumpkin choked when she opened the door, his blue eyes wide. "I thought you were behaving."

"I happen to like this color," she said dryly.

"And if you haven't thought of its other associations, I'll eat my shirt."

"But it's such a lovely shirt," she teased as they made their way out of the Royal Wing. "Besides, I may not be sovereign, but I am still a Queen of Narnia."

The dwarf sighed and shook his head, the silver bands in his beard clinking softly. "I just don't want you hurting yourself, lass."

"I think it's a little late for that," she murmured.

But she realized the sharpest pain had passed. It still hurt, would always hurt, but that first flare of agony was over. Susan Pevensie, the lovesick heartbroken little twit, could hide behind Queen Susan the Gentle of Narnia. She would always love him, always wonder, but she could do this. She could pretend.

"Trumpkin." He stopped and looked up at her. "Should I go change my dress?"

"Why?"

"You don't want me to hurt myself, but I don't want to hurt him," she explained softly. "Do you really think it will be a problem?"

He took his time in answering, his keen gaze studying her face. "I think it would do him good to see what he's missing," he said finally.

"Trumpkin!"

But the Red Dwarf held up one small hand for patience. "When I first met you, I didn't believe in much of anything. I've learned somewhat since then. If his love for you was truly so strong, he should have had faith in it, and in Aslan. You did."

"It's been four years for him, Trumpkin."

"Love knows neither time nor boundary," he quoted, and she recognized the poem as one a Calormen bard had written for Lucy. "It knows neither day nor night, neither loss nor lessening, nothing but the eternal transcendence of two souls intertwined."

Susan regarded him for a long moment, her face set in the polite but blank stillness he'd come to privately refer to as her queen face. "I wouldn't have pictured you for love songs," she said at last.

"Glenstorm's youngest son used it in his marriage ceremony, but that's beside the point."

"I'm not entirely sure the point is cogent to begin with. It is his duty to find a wife to bear him an heir; if you're going to be angry with him for that, you had best be angry with me for not staying away." She softened her tone at his stricken look. "Things are what they are, Trumpkin. It's not fair to punish him for doing the right thing."

"It's not fair to punish you, either."

"Nor am I being punished. This isn't deliberate, we all know that. Now it's time to simply make the best of it as we can."

"Don't change the dress," he instructed gruffly. "It looks lovely."

"All right." The pair continued walking in companionable silence, edging around the main crowd to the small private door nearer the thrones. Susan didn't want to make a grand entrance, not with the reason for the celebration being what it was. They had honored his homecoming with the feast; now they honored his engagement.

She'd both loved and hated balls in the Golden Age. They were always such a blend of enjoyment and unpleasantness. Although, perhaps there was an advantage to being back in the awkward stage of growth; no one would want to declare war for her as she was now. With that happy thought in mind, she conjured up a smile that was mostly believable and entered the ball room.

Caspian was speaking with Captain Drinian when he noticed the other man's suddenly stunned expression. "What is it?" he asked with concern. "Is something wrong?"

"No, your Majesty," the sailor managed. "Nothing is wrong."

Still mystified, the king turned and saw Susan, and his hand rose to press against his chest.

She wore a gown of pure scarlet that swept low across bare shoulders, tightly hugging her torso before flaring out into full, whispering skirts. A cream silk sash, shot through with gold, tied low on her hips, the ends dangling gracefully down to sweep the floor. Her hair was pinned up in a mass of dark curls, the delicate gold leaves of her crown gleaming brightly. A few curls artfully framed her face and teased against her slender neck. She was a flame against the white stone walls.

Doctor Cornelius cleared his throat. "Perhaps you and Lady Lahatiel should open the dancing?" he suggested tactfully.

Caspian nodded abstractedly, tearing his eyes away from the dark haired queen, and searched for his fiancée. He found the star's daughter standing in a clutch of young ladies, listening to their excited chatter with a vaguely bemused smile. Though the castle seamstresses were at her complete disposal, she continued to wear her robes from the island. They fell about her like liquid light; tonight's were so pale a lavender as to be nearly white.

"My lady," he greeted with a deep bow. "Shall we open the dancing?"

Lahatiel gave him a considering look, her hands folded within her overlong sleeves. "You must forgive me for not knowing how to dance," she answered in her quiet, musical voice. "Perhaps Queen Susan would be so obliging as to assist you for my sake?"

He stared at her, feeling the blood drain from his face.

"Or perhaps someone else," she continued casually, as if nothing were unusual in his reaction. "The dance must be begun; I cannot perform that service."

Caspian shot a helpless glance to his old tutor, who shrugged and gestured across the space to the unsuspecting queen. Taking a deep breath, the man tugged at his deep green tunic and crossed the room, bowing before the startled Susan. "Your Majesty, will you do me the honor of beginning the ball with me?"

She blinked at him, very aware of Trumpkin choking at her side. "Surely the Lady Lahatiel-"

"-does not know how to dance," he finished, holding out his hand and praying it didn't shake.

Slowly, she slid her hand into his, his fingers curling about hers. The musicians in the galleries began a stately waltz. His palm felt like fire against the small of her back as he gently pulled her close, her other hand resting on his shoulder. They moved gracefully into the dance, his lead strong and confident.

Lahatiel watched them thoughtfully, noting their fluid motion. There was none of the new hesitation of unfamiliar partners, only the seamless communication of step and spin. Where their speech stumbled, their bodies knew each other.

Near the end of the song, Susan unexpectedly took the lead in a subtle maneuver that reminded Caspian of how often she must have done this at similar occasions. Pulling near the wall with the final flourish of the instruments, she swept into a deep curtsey and offered Lahatiel the king's hand.

Doctor Cornelius discreetly wiped a tear from his cheek. Queen Susan the Gentle indeed.

Despite her thoughts- and hopes- to the contrary, Susan quickly found herself besieged with admirers inviting her to dance. She declined some and accepted others, taking great care to show no favoritism. Calormen, Archenlander, Telmarine, Narnian, she flowed effortlessly from one style to another, grateful to those ladies who'd spent hours teaching her new dances.

Trumpkin rescued her, scowling fiercely at anyone who tried to approach while she sipped a glass of wine. "You're letting them run you ragged," he groused.

"I'm having fun," she laughed in reply. And it was even true. Though her heart was sore, especially after that first dance, she was having fun.

Caspian did not dance again after the opening, dutifully remaining at Lahatiel's side. But his deep brown eyes followed Susan as she moved from gentleman to gentleman. A faun approached her with some request, making her laugh and shake her head. The faun persisted, and though she shook her head again, she also allowed him to take the empty glass from her hand.

She approached the king, dipping a small curtsey. "Your Majesty, the fauns have asked me to relay to you their request to perform a dance for the assembly."

"Why would they need permission?"

To his astonishment, she smirked, her azure eyes sparkling impishly. "You've never actually seen a full faun dance, have you?"

"Ah, no," he admitted. "I do not believe they felt comfortable enough before." _Before you came_, he meant, but did not say.

"Have they your permission then?"

"Yes, yes, of course!"

Caper, the auburn haired faun who often assisted in the infirmary, sidled up close beside the queen, his hands twisting his indigo knit scarf. "Queen Susan, we meant for you to join us."

She stared at him in consternation. "But I'd look-"

"-like you belong," he said plainly. He wiggled his ears at her, giving her an endearing grin. "Please?"

"Shall I make it a royal command?" teased Caspian, earning himself a wry look from both women.

Doctor Cornelius smoothed his wiry beard, adjusting his pince-nez. "My mother used to tell me stories of the festivals of the nymphs and fauns," he murmured.

"I'm no nymph," Susan returned sourly, but she gave his hand a warm squeeze. "I cannot resist so long-held a dream, though I shall almost certainly disappoint it. And when I twist my ankle, you will be responsible for carrying me away."

He chortled and nodded eagerly.

Dragging Susan away by the hand, Caper scampered off the round up his cohorts. Trumpkin made his way over to the king, ducking through the lords and ladies curiously vacating the center of the room. "I hope you know what you're starting," he noted, hands stuck deep in the pockets of his vest.

Susan was a brilliant splash of color amidst the earth-toned fauns as they decided upon a song. The creatures had quite obviously been planning this, as several of them had instruments; two the double pronged aulos, two small hand drums, and one a battered fiddle. The dancers spread into a wide circle, holding hands, and the quintet burst into lively song. Caspian immediately understood why Susan feared for her ankles; the fauns moved quickly and with high, kicking steps, dropping hands to weave tightly through each to her. Every time the woman spun, he caught glimpses of pale flesh, her breathless laughter ringing through the hall.

As soon as the song was one, the fauns began pulling children onto the floor, the older children attending their first ball. One little girl, perhaps nine or ten years old, balked. "I don't know the steps."

"You don't have to," Susan assured, holding out her hand.

The girl smiled shyly and took it, stepping away from her bemused parents.

They arranged the children into a long line, Caper at the head, Susan in the middle, and fauns scattered throughout. "Follow the leader," Caper told them, wiggling his ears to make them giggle.

Though he hadn't known what to picture, this moment was exactly what Caspian had hoped for when he tried to imagine a blend of the Telmarine and Narnian nations. The children shrieked with laughter as they wove through the line itself, jumping over and ducking under and spinning out, following whatever example Caper thought to give them. When the song was done, the youngest guests ran back to their parents, their faces glowing with excitement and delight over their part in the evening.

Trumpkin handed the panting queen a fresh glass of wine when she joined them, her cheeks flushed pink. Lahatiel reached out and re-pinned some of the falling curls.

"I thank you," said Susan sincerely.

The star's daughter nodded, a small smile gracing her lips.

Caspian blinked.

Their circle was joined by others, among them a Calormen lord wearing a royal blue turban, his bear dyed a deep burgundy. "Most gracious and beauteous Queen Susan," he greeted, "I am awed beyond words to find that legends of your loveliness have not been exaggerated."

"You flatter me, Tarkaan," she replied automatically, her grip tightening slightly on the stem of her glass.

"The man who will take you to wife is very lucky indeed."

"Lucky and imaginary," she said, voice mild despite its undercurrent of steel. "I regret to say there exists no man who will ever be able to call me wife."

Every face in the circle focused on her with varying degrees of shock and protest. "No man, my lady?" ventured a brave Archenlander. "Surely a heart so lovely cannot be so cold."

"My heart has nothing to do with it." She calmly sipped her wine, fingertips brushing against the key at her throat. "I find human nature is easily prone to temptation," she continued lightly, steadily meeting each gaze. "If I were to marry and bear children, those children, or their children, might feel themselves entitled to the throne. I could not countenance such a threat to my people; I will certainly not help to create it. So no, my lord, no man shall call me wife."

"That sounds as if it would be terribly lonely," said Lahatiel quietly.

Susan glanced across at her, the two women sharing a deep, wordless look of understanding. "Perhaps it will be," she allowed, just as softly, "but I've my friends, and I've my faith that things will turn out as they are meant to be. Wearing a crown means putting the needs of others before your own, and sometimes it requires sacrifice. If it means ensuring the peace and safety of future generations, it is a sacrifice I will gladly bear."

Caspian stared at her in the silence that followed, but Lahatiel took Susan's hand and pressed it lightly, letting it fall without comment.

--

It figured. The first time he actually needed to find her, and she was nowhere to be found. He didn't think Susan was deliberately avoiding him- at least not anymore- but it was still a very large castle. He'd attempted to ask her maid, but the Leopard was snarling too loudly to allow the communication. He'd checked the archery yard, the stable, the infirmary, even the kitchens, with no sign of her. Finally, he ran into Doctor Cornelius, who mentioned that he Majesty had spent the past several afternoons in the library.

It had been two weeks and a little since the ball. Two weeks of polite greetings and impersonal conversations. Two weeks of pretending his dreams weren't newly stricken with the image of her, resplendent in scarlet and gold, dancing and laughing with the fauns and Telmarine children.

Caspian pushed open the door to the archives, immediately comforted by the familiar, musty smell of dust, leather, and parchment. In the farthest corner, hidden by shelves, the scribes and archivists worked diligently to preserve history as it was made. Some of the happiest hours of his childhood had been passed in his tutor's cramped rooms, studying from the ancient texts and stories.

He found her in one of the attached reading rooms, curled up comfortably in a chair that sat squarely in a great shaft of light. He'd noticed that about her during the fortnight; whatever room she was in, if it had a window, she was generally near it, like a plant growing towards sunlight. As he came closer, he saw her slippers lying empty beneath the chair.

Stopping a few feet away from her, Caspian simply drank in the sight of her, completely at ease. She rolled her full lower between her teeth as she read, her eyes traveling swiftly back and forth across each page. A small housecat lay in a tight ball in her lap, one grey and black striped paw draped across its nose. Caspian could hear it purring.

"Edmund used to do that," she said suddenly, not looking up from her page. "He would just stand in the doorway and see how long it would take for us to notice he was there."

"And what was the result?" he asked, sinking down onto a nearby chair.

"Except in moments of extreme chaos, we knew the moment someone entered a room or came into our personal space." She finished the page and closed the book, setting it atop the small stack on the table to her right. "It came in handy sometimes, but made it awfully difficult to surprise each other."

He gestured to the books, flicking his hair back out of his face. "What are you doing?"

"Reading history," she answered with a crooked smile. "I've a lot to catch up on. I've made it through about a hundred years so far. Now there's only twelve hundred more to go." She tilted her head to one side, fingers stroking the ecstatically purring cat. "Did you need me for something?"

"Actually, yes." Rubbing a hand against the stubble on his jaw, Caspian searched for the right words. "We have reached a dilemma in Council," he admitted bluntly. "General Presand and Trumpkin thought they remembered you mentioning a precedent."

"A precedent for?" she prompted when he trailed off.

"They are worried about the giants in the north. They send no messengers, they accept no messengers, and we honestly do not know how to approach them."

"We had that problem once."

"What did you do?"

"We stopped trying to approach them," she said dryly. "We tend to think of giants as being extraordinarily large humans, but they're not really. What they are is extraordinarily stupid. Reasoning with them, talking with them, didn't work, so we finally let our weapons forge an accord for us."

"What accord did you reach? Is it still in effect?"

"Giants have trouble remembering things for a few hours; I highly doubt they're capable of maintaining an agreement for centuries without regular reinforcement." She rifled through the stack at her side, pulling out a volume and opening it to a large, detailed map. Her finger traced the line of a river on the page. "We called it the River of Crystalline Falls, then; I have no idea what you call it now. It formed the northern border of Narnia. SO long as the giants kept to their side of it and we to ours, we were fine. Any human north of the water- and any giant south of it- was unprotected by their government. In the case of the humans, that meant becoming food if they were caught."

Caspian swallowed in revulsion. "Giants are cannibals?"

"The northern ones are. The southern ones are not." She closed the book and replaced it, not shifting the cat nestled in her skirts. "You'll always be paying attention to the giants," she added thoughtfully. "The northern ones never remember the border, and the southern ones- though gentle- will destroy things entirely by accident. The 

Council shouldn't worry about receiving tribute, as the cities of the giants aren't actually part of Narnia." She frowned briefly. "Or at least they weren't."

He sighed, closing his eyes and soaking the warm sunlight into his face. "All those years my uncle ruled in my name because I was too young, and I never realized how much there is to do."

"It gets easier if you stop trying to do it all yourself," she told him idly, watching him through her lashes. "We were always onto Peter about that. You have a Council, you have advisors; make use of them. That's what they're there for."

"How did you convince the High King?"

Much to his astonishment, a giggle slipped from her. It was not a sound he usually associated with Susan. "Lucy and I sat on him," she confided in a strangled whisper, "and Edmund beat the tar out of him. We reminded him that we bore crowns and titles, too, and insisted upon our share of the responsibility. Then, while he was recovering, we set up a system to help. "She shrugged at his boggled expression, her eyes dancing with laughter. "We were young."

"And if I prove similarly hard to convince?"

"I'll ask Glenstorm to sit on you and Trumpkin to beat you," she assured playfully.

Caspian couldn't help but laugh, lounging more comfortably in the chair. "They probably would, too," he said ruefully.

"If they thought it best for you? Probably."

The housecat uncurled and stretched languidly, kneading Susan's thigh with prickling claws. Her tail twitching, she leapt down to the floor, sauntering out of the room and into the stacks. They both watched her go, aware of the silence altering.

Susan spoke first, her voice soft and distant. "You have a much harder job than we did, you know. Narnia had been in a hundred years of winter when we showed up; after that, they were more than willing to allow us a few screw-ups. They trusted us, and advised us well when we began to deal with the other Courts. But you? Not only are you re-establishing diplomacy, you're trying to repair a breach hundreds of years old. I know the tension is frightening, but the fact that you're not in full civil war is frankly amazing. Stop being so hard on yourself; have faith in the skills you know you have."

"How long did it take you to learn that lesson?"

She acknowledged the point with a rueful grin. "I'm still learning it," she admitted, "but then, I didn't say it was easy." Shifting in the chair, she wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her knees. "Caspian, my siblings and I reigned for over fifteen years; you've realistically only been at it for three."

His wistful smile threw her off her train of thought. "I think that is the first time you have said my name since our return," he said quietly.

She twisted her hands in her skirts and didn't answer.

"Did you mean what you said at the ball?"

Susan thought about pushing him to clarify but resisted the impulse; it would only cause pain to both of them. There were a lot of things she could say, but far fewer that she should. She studied his face as she deliberated, 

trying to understand what he was actually asking by it. "Yes," she answered, finally settling on simplicity as the best course. "I meant what I said."

"You deserve better."

Her voice dropped to little more than an anguished whisper, and she looked anywhere but at him. "Everything has a price. This is mine."

"Susan…" He leaned forward, his fingertips brushing against her cheek. She flinched away from him and he would have followed but for the small cough that froze him in place.

Peepiceek emerged from the shadows, regarding them neutrally.

The queen shook her head, withdrawing deeper into herself. "I'm home," she breathed painfully, her face pale and wan. "Isn't that enough?"

"Is it?" Caspian sat back in the chair, hating himself for hurting her more. "You had no way to know how much time had passed."

"This is true."

"Another thirteen hundred years could have passed, with everyone you knew long dead."

"Also true."

"Then why did you come back?"

She was saved from having to answer by Lahatiel, of all people. The star's daughter entered the room to read with Susan as she had every afternoon for nearly a week, a book of stargazing lore clutched to her chest. Susan gave a genuine smile and inclined her head, both gestures that Lahatiel returned.

The queen turned back to Caspian, her expression fixed back into a polite mask. "I wouldn't worry about the giants, your Majesty; they're not part of Narnia anyway. Just deal sternly with the few who stumble across the border and let the others be."

Nodding moodily, the king ruminated in silence as Lahatiel chose a seat in the shadows, both women opening their books. When neither showed any inclination to speak, he stood and bowed, leaving them to their study. Though the advice was good, he wasn't particularly sure he'd gained anything by the conversation.

Except a raging headache.

--

Lord Giorgio spread his hands wide in a helpless gesture. "Your Majesty, we simply do not know enough about the Black Dwarves to understand what this means."

Caspian glanced around the liens of compass backed chairs, seeing reluctant agreement on most of the faces present. The Telmarine Council had asked to speak with him privately, thus there were several empty chairs where the Narnian Council was usually seated. They had initially gathered to discuss the Telmarine malcontents on the northwestern coast, but new intelligence from Lord Antelito had shifted the meeting to a new course. "Marcon."

Silence.

"Marcon!"

The ten year old boy sprang up from his cushion on the floor by the door, dashing the sleep from his eyes. "Your Majesty!" he cried, face burning with shame at being caught napping.

Caspian stifled a smile, seeing several Council members do the same. "Will you please find Queen Susan? Inform her that the Council would be grateful for her insight on a matter."

It was nearly half an hour before he returned with the queen in tow, come straight from the archery yards. She was flushed and sweating, strands of hair plastered to her face and neck. She wore a plain skirt and blouse with a leather jerkin, her bow still held loosely in one hand.

And she was just as lovely as ever.

Susan curtseyed to the Council, utterly unconcerned with her appearance. "How may I be of assistance, my lords?"

Caspian stood and stepped aside to offer her his chair, which she declined with a brief shake of her head. Shrugging, he remained on his feet. "Lord Antelito, if you please?"

The Telmarine shifted forward in his seat, arms trembling as he braced his hands against the chair. He was an old man, his curly hair and close-cropped beard entirely silver, and Susan winced at his obvious stiffness.

"My lord," she said before he could speak, "you must have ridden hard to arrive in such haste; please do not stand only for my sake. My honor won't be wounded."

Hesitating, the old man eventually nodded and eased back into his seat. "My lands fall around the town of Castellan, abutting the northeastern mountains," he began, one hand moving as though tracing a map. "Nearly three years ago, when the Black Dwarves separated themselves from the rest of the population, it was to these mountains they took themselves."

"These are the ones just north of LanternWaste?" she asked.

"Yes. We have had almost no contact with them since; the outermost merchants occasionally have trade with them, and our woodsmen see them from time to time in the fringes of the deepest forest. We monitor these reports, seeking to avoid skirmishes like those of our first year of co-existence. But now, these reports begin to be alarming."

"How so?"

"The merchants noticed the changes first; the spokesdwarves were more heavily armed, and brought less to trade. They were interested more in stiff leathers and finished metals than anything else. Then the woodsmen saw bands of other creatures moving through the forest into the mountains. When they described them, I did not recognize any creature I knew."

"What descriptions did they give you?" She walked across the room and took the small sheaf of parchment pieces he held up. Looping the bow over her body, she skimmed through it, her face carefully expressionless. "Is this what you actually gathered here to discuss?"

Caspian frowned, not understanding where the question came from. "No; it was where the discussion led. Our initial conversation was only a Telmarine matter."

Her eyes flicked to the empty chairs and she nodded. "The splinter colony then?" She smiled grimly at the flurry of noise. "People do talk, my lords."

"And what are they saying?"

"That the colony is shrinking and none of the traders seem to know why that is." Turning over one of the pages, she grimaced down at the scrawled message. "No ships are being built, no boats crawl the coast, and yet many of the young- and not so young- mean are gradually disappearing."

"You think the two things are connected," the king said slowly.

"I think people seeking retribution for imagined wrongs tend not to think their alliances all the way through."

Caspian met her eyes gravely, deep brown and sapphire. "That does not lead to comforting ideas."

"But as of yet they're still only ideas," she reminded him, reading through another description. "We don't even have any real rumor yet, much less proof."

"What would be the purpose of such an alliance?" inquired Giorgio. "Those two factions have far more reason to hate each other than they do us."

"We don't know absolutely that there is an alliance. For all we know, they could even be hunting each other down the northern border. We need to find out more." She read the final report and rolled them all back together, her fingers absently sliding along her bowstring to check for frays. "The Black Dwarves have always been a bit hostile," she noted thoughtfully, "nearly from the singing of the world. The Red Dwarves worked the southern rock and clay; the Black Dwarves dug deep into the metals and precious gems. They wanted to protect their wealth and mines, and grew very suspicious and solitary. This could be nothing."

"You think it is something," Caspian stated.

"I do," she agreed easily. "Bu then, perhaps I'm simply biased; I fought one war against them, and was nearly betrayed by them in another."

The Telmarine lords shifted uneasily beneath her wry tone.

Caspian smiled slightly, hooking his thumbs through his sword belt. "Will it make things worse to send scouts?"

"Only if they get caught."

Giorgio coughed to hide a startled laugh; he wasn't the only one.

Lord Antelito rose slowly from his chair, keeping one hand on the arm for support. "With your permission, your Majesty, I should like to begin setting this in motion."

"Are there any other issues that should not wait for the next full Council?" Answered by shuffling and silence, Caspian raised his hands. "Then permission granted, Lord Antelito, this Council is dismissed." When Susan moved past him, his fingers wrapped strongly around her wrist. "A moment, my lady?"

She waited patiently.

"You recognized the creatures in those descriptions," he said, voice low so as not to be overheard by the departing Telmarines.

"I did, yes."

"Why did you not say something?"

"Because I didn't want to cause a panic when it may yet be nothing."

"Again, you do not think it is nothing."

"Hags."

He blinked. "Sorry?"

"Hags," she repeated, holding up the roll of parchment scraps. "Some of these descriptions are of Hags. Others are of Ankle Slicers, others of Goblins, others of creatures so dark and terribly they were not given names for fear of summoning them with their utterance. All were ancestral allies of the Black Dwarves, under the service of Jadis."

"Jadis?"

"The White Witch."

He stared at her in shock.

Susan laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. "We know nothing at this point, your Majesty, so there is no need to panic, no need to fear. Send out your scouts and make your way from there."

He laid his hands over hers, looking deep into her veiled eyes. "I am grateful you are here to guide me."

"He had a reason for letting me come back," she said simply, sliding her hand away. "As well this as any."

Caspian watched her leave, unsure how to interpret her final remark.


	6. Chapter 5: Frozen

**Disclaimer: Nothing really new here. I own nothing. No, really, I own NOTHING.**

_A/N: On a really random note, I despise spell/grammar check. It hangs up on things that are correct and totally misses the errors, and I can't catch them myself because I know what it's supposed to say. So, please forgive the occasional error, but I don't want to delay updates for having someone else check them. And, as always, please review. Reviews are the sprinkles on the ice cream, and no sundae is complete without sprinkles._

** Chapter Five**

** Frozen**

It was getting to be a rather frustrating habit that whenever he went looking for Susan himself, rather than sending a page or messenger, he couldn't find her. He was trying to avoid asking at her chambers- Swiftly made him rather nervous. On a burst of inspiration, Caspian made his way through the halls to Trumpkin's office.

The dwarf was engaged in reading a proposed trade agreement with Archenland, which he gladly put down when the king appeared in the doorway. "I know more about silk than I ever wanted to," he said dryly. "Wasted all that time only to turn it down."

Caspian glanced down at the proposal. "They want an exclusive on importing?"

"Archenland's silks are nicely priced, but Calormen's are of high quality. An exclusive agreement with either would punch out one end of the market."

"You are very good at this, my friend."

"Dwarves are good with money," he dismissed, voice gruff with embarrassment. "Any word from your scouts yet?"

"No, not yet. Trumpkin, have you seen Queen Susan?"

"Yes, this morning when she left."

Caspian stared at him, heart pounding painfully and loudly in his ears. His mouth worked mutely, attempting words. "Left?" he choked out finally, the sound mangled so badly with emotion it was barely intelligible.

"Breathe, boy, she'll be back in a week or two."

Still staring, the Telmarine dropped down to one of the cushions Trumpkin kept for the Cats. The chairs in the office were fiendishly and purposefully uncomfortable, designed to prevent anyone from wasting time.

"And that reaction is hardly fair to your wife-to-be."

"You do not even like my wife-to-be."

"I don't know your wife-to-be," Trumpkin corrected, "not that it actually matters. Whether she's a paragon or the White Witch incarnate, you owe her that much respect."

"I know," sighed Caspian, his heart starting to pound again. "I know, Trumpkin, it is just that I lo-"

"Stop." "Don't say it unless you're saying it to her, and you shouldn't be saying it to her, either. Do you have any idea how hard this is for her?"

"Do you think it is any easier for me?" Caspian flared, shooting to his feet to pace about the cramped room. "I thought I would never see her again! I tried to do my duty, and because of that I cannot tell her how I feel. Four years I have dreamed of seeing her again, and now, finally, she is close enough to touch and I…I cannot…" He broke off, rubbing strongly at his face in an attempt to keep control.

Sighing, Trumpkin pointed back to the cushion. "Sit down, boy."

Caspian continued to pace.

"Sit down!" the dwarf thundered. The startled human obeyed. Trumpkin leaned forward against his desk, clasping his hands together. He honored Caspian as his king, but there were times- like now- when he saw the terrified boy lost in the woods. "This isn't kind on anyone, your Majesty, and there isn't much anyone can do, but what we can do is not make it worse. She and Lady Lahatiel are trying to make it easier, but you're not helping. The more you seek her out, the more frequently you touch her, the more you hurt all three of you."

Brown eyes fixed on the floor, Caspian ran a hand through his hair, his signet ring snagging briefly on a tangle. "I thought she couldn't go back to England."

Trumpkin let it go. "She can't, and she didn't. She said she respects to pay and plans to make."

"It is dangerous for her to leave Cair Paravel," the king groaned. "We do not know where the malcontents are going. If they are coming south into Narnia, if they see her…"

"The lass is well able to fend for herself," Trumpkin reminded him with a scowl. "Besides, you didn't really think I'd let her go off on her own, did you?"

Caspian wasn't particularly reassured; Susan had a habit of being braver than she should be. He still remembered her facing down a troop of mounted soldiers with nothing but her bow and a half-quiver of arrows. "Where did she go?"

"Does it matter? Leave her be."

"You swear she is well protected?"

Trumpkin stifled his first impulse; despite his words, he wasn't without sympathy for the man. "I care for her too, boy," he said quietly, "but you can't protect her now."

Caspian stood and walked to the door, turning back to meet the dwarf's gaze with deep, burning intensity. "I will never tell her I love her. I will never marry her, never have children with her, never rule by her side. But I will _never_ stop trying to protect her."

"You can't protect her from yourself."

--

Susan and her escort stood in the fringe of trees, looking out across an old battlefield. Grass had grown over the pit caused by the collapse of the tunnels, making it resemble a giant fuzzy bowl, but she wouldn't care to risk walking through it. There was nothing they could do to restore that section of the underbelly, but the Narnians had lovingly repaired the damage done to the entrance by the catapults.

Each of the Pevensie children had found someplace in Narnia that they escaped to in order to think and be. Edmund retreated to the caves riddling the southern edge of the peninsula, listening to the crashing roar of the ocean echo back around him. Lucy went haring off to Mister Tumnus home in LanternWaste- whether he was there or not. Peter had found a glade a few days north of Cair Paravel where he liked to camp and hunt.

Susan went to the Stone Table.

The boys had never understood it but they always let her go once they could be confident in her safety. Lucy had understood though. For all that they had encountered on their way to Aslan- the Beavers, the Wolves, the statues, Father Christmas- she had barely accepted that deep and wonderful magic was all about them; it wasn't until the Stone Table that she actually _believed_. Whenever Susan needed to remember belief, she went to the place she'd first found it.

Mog sat back on his haunches at her side, tongue lolling out in a pant. He nudged his nose into her hand, wiggling until his head was under her fingers. She obediently started scratching. "Aslan's How is a funny name," he noted, out of curiosity rather than irreverence. Swiftly growled anyway.

"We never meant it to become the name," murmured Susan.

Glenstorm actually looked startled. "Your Majesty created the name?"

She shook her head, smiling ruefully. "After the battle with the White Witch, we were all wandering around rather shocked. Peter, in particular, kept asking 'How did this happen? How did all this happen?' And Lucy would just smile and say 'Aslan's how'. It was the family joke. It wasn't until we got back that we realized people had taken it so much to heart."

The centaur blinked owlishly at her, his thin corkscrew braids falling into his dark eyes. "Conversing with you never fails to provide an education," he said mildly.

"History books never seem to recount how young and silly we were."

They started walking across to the How, skirting around the edges of the field's sunken heart. Mog and Swiftly prowled in the vanguard, two of Glenstorm's sons trotting after them with the Mice perched on their broad backs. Susan and Glenstorm followed more slowly.

When they were halfway to the entrance, the young woman decided to finally ask a question that had been bothering her for months. "Glenstorm? If Caspian had actually held his ground against Peter while we were making battle plans, who would you have supported?"

He glanced down at her impassively, then back out over the field. There were heroes buried there, unmarked in the Narnian manner; the legends preserved the memory of the dead, so there was no need to spoil the scapes by dotting them with gravestones. "I do not know," he said finally. "We were gathering in the name of Caspian, and it was his leadership we needed to trust, as he would continue to be our king after the departure of you and your siblings. But High King Peter was used to ruling, and his Highness only beginning to learn. Perhaps it was for the best."

She remembered the fierce arguments and wondered.

"My people are very good at looking forward," Glenstorm continued, his deep voice lost in thought. "We have too much sight to be skilled in looking back. I think on the High King's plan, and all I can see is the face of my son, bravely meeting his death because we could not hold the retreat. I remember how the soldiers treated his body like so much filth to be discarded. But then I think on King Caspian's plan, and I wonder how many more of my 

children I would have lost had we been trapped by a siege. It is easier to see the pattern once the thread is finished, but that does not make these questions mine to answer."

"Thank you."

"Why do you ask?"

"I was curious." She paused at the small stone yard, recalling what little she'd seen of Peter's duel with Miraz. "Whenever they disagreed, you looked to Caspian, and when he didn't say anything, you followed Peter. I always wondered about that look."

"You say his name more easily now."

She flashed him a startled grin. "I suppose I do," she agreed on a moment's thought. "Perhaps that means things will be better from here."

Watching his surviving sons laugh over Mog's antics, Glenstorm turned back to Susan. "You asked me a difficult question, your Majesty; now I ask one of you: when you learned of Lahatiel, why did you not ask to leave?"

The young woman blinked up at him, shading her eyes with one hand. Midsummer was fast approaching, and the longer days brought fierce heat and glaring sun. "I can't go back."

"I know, but you could have asked. You have not."

She took her time in answering. He had given an honest response to a personal question; she could do no less. Looking out over the How, she remembered the hissing song of arrows flying from their strings, the thundering crash of boulders. She remembered the clash of swords, the battle cries and the cries of the wounded and dying. "I don't want to be so far from him and wonder," she admitted in a whisper. "I don't want to worry about my people and have no way to look after them. I don't want to spend my entire life feeling out of place. I don't want to feel like a coward and a failure for not being able to handle the consequences I knowingly accepted. I don't want to disappoint Aslan or my family. But what it really comes down to, more than even all of that, is that I would rather be heartbroken in Narnia than content anywhere else."

Mog gave a high-pitched yelp and raced out of the cavern, tail tucked firmly between his legs.

Susan and Glenstorm ran forward, only to find the rest of their party laughing. "What is it? What happened?"

"There was a snake!" Mog exclaimed indignantly.

"A dead one," elaborated Swiftly.

Susan chuckled and shook her head. She could always count on Mog to lighten things up. Stepping into the How, the relief from the heat was instant and palpable, the shadow soothing on her stinging and most likely sunburnt skin.

Here, she could be.

They stayed in Aslan's How for three days. The others kept mostly to the outer cavern, leaving her alone with her thoughts, though the Mice took turns standing guard on the stairwell. She'd noticed before that the Narnians reserved a sacred reverence for the shattered Stone Table. They wouldn't touch it even to dust it; they would certainly never dream of sitting on it.

But she'd earned that right, she and Lucy both, that long and terrible night. They'd watched Him die, watched the Witch and her horde celebrate, and then, when it was safe, crept up onto the vast platform and mourned. Through the endless, terrifying darkness, they'd kept vigil over His body, and when the sun's first rays broke through the grey dawn, the Deeper Magic cracked the Stone Table and Death itself was refused. Stiff and shivering and scared, their sorrow had earned them that right.

She thought a great deal about Caspian, of course, and of Lahatiel. She liked Lahatiel; she hadn't expected that. The blonde woman was distant and reserved, but there was a depth to her that was easy to overlook. She was intelligent, too, with a sly, understated sense of humor that snuck up on you hours after a conversation was over. They weren't friends, exactly; it was more that they found peace in each other's company, silent as often as not.

Susan still wasn't sure Lahatiel would make a good queen, as the star's daughter didn't seem inclined to learn passion for her new land and people, but she was growing quite fond of her on a personal level. She couldn't hate her simply for being the one Caspian would call wife- though a part of her wanted to- because none of it was Lahatiel's fault.

The queen knew for a fact that Lahatiel was aware of the dynamic between her and Caspian, not because it had been explicitly discussed, but just because the two women understood each other very well. And Lahatiel was gracious about it.

That was the irritating part.

Aslan occupied much of her time as well. Why _had_ He allowed her to come back? Not every desperate prayer was answered; why had He come to her, when it went so profoundly against what He'd told them? But trying to unravel Aslan was a doomed endeavor; He was not, after all, a tame Lion.

Susan wondered how her siblings were doing. How much time had passed? It had been over two months since her return to Narnia. Had it been only a few days for them? A few hours? Did they even realize yet that she was gone? Did they hate her for being able to return where they could not?

And, frequently, she thought more about Caspian. She was worried about him. He'd left for a year before he'd really even settled into ruling, and he was still learning. He sought her out nearly every day, and while she liked- and shuddered- to think he just wanted to see her, the questions he asked were very real. What if he was becoming too dependent upon her? She was leaving Cair Paravel as soon as the Lodge in LanternWaste was restored; he had to be able to stand on his own two feet, without running to her to double-check every decision he made.

Mog kept her company on the third day, sitting on a piece of rubble so he could rest his muzzle on her knee. Reclining against the perpendicular break, she absently stroked his ruff as she lost herself in thought, staring at the image of Aslan on the wall. "Cub?" he asked cautiously.

"Yes?"

"Do you know why I left my Pack?"

She wasn't sure where this was coming from, but she just shook her head. "No, I don't. You never said."

Mog's ears flicked back briefly against his skull, and for almost the first time since she'd met him his tail was entirely still. "In almost every Pack in Narnia, each generation has a cub named Maugrim, to remember the dishonor Wolves earned in the Golden Age," he explained, reciting his grandfather's lessons. "And when the cub is old enough to survive on his own, he's cast from the Pack. It was the only symbol we had. But then you came back."

When he nudged her hand seeking comfort, she willingly obliged. This was a new side to Mog, probably the spark of potential Swiftly had seen to convince him to put up with the playful pup.

"You let everyone fight for our home. You treated the Black Dwarves, the Minotaurs, and the Wolves just like your most ancient allies. You let the Wolves win back our honor."

"Mog, why are you telling me this?" she asked, utterly mystified.

"Because you look lonely," he said simply. "When we move to LanternWaste, you'll be able to hear Packsongs; the Wolves honor you there. It's impossible to be lonely when the Packs sing your name to the stars. Whenever you need anything, the Wolves will help, because you did for us what we could not do for ourselves."

Blinking tears away from her eyes, Susan curled up so she could rest her head against Mog's neck. "The only Wolf I need is you," she mumbled.

The tail thumped happily against the stone.

Perhaps it was simply the new angle, looking down rather than across, but Susan suddenly realized she could see a circle carved into the floor, gleaming with pale, fractured crystals. She slid down to examine it, Mog padding curiously after her. In a flash of memory, she saw Caspian, then Peter, standing in exactly that circle, staring up entranced at the wall of ice that held the terrible beauty of Jadis. Edmund had been the hero that day, and she couldn't have been prouder of him, but they'd fallen so swiftly to talk of battle…

Had they ever done anything to prevent it from happening again?

Flying up the stairs to the main cavern, Susan skidded to a halt in front of a startled Glenstorm. "What happened to the Witch's sceptre?" she asked without preamble.

He shook his head slowly, not understanding the question.

"The White Witch's sceptre," she said impatiently. "The only the hag used to summon her back to tempt Caspian. What happened to it after the battle?"

"I do not know," he told her gravely. "I don't believe any of us thought of it."

Kneeling down next to her things, Susan began quickly rolling up her bedroll, stuffing it into her pack with her change of clothes. "We need to go, now, back to Cair Paravel."

"Why?"

She stood and tied off the untidy pack, slinging it over one shoulder. "I think I know why the Black Dwarves are gathering an army."

--

They traveled hard, running all through the night and never stopping for more than an hour. When had taken them almost three days to cover on the way out took just over a day and a half. Susan was exhausted when they stumbled back into Cair Paravel, and very aware of her wretched appearance, but she didn't retreat back to her chambers to clean up. Instead, she strode boldly through the corridors to Caspian's study, where he was usually to be found in the hour before dinner.

"Is his Majesty in?" she asked the wide-eyed guard.

"Yes, your Majesty," he answered with a bow. "He is with General Presand and Sir Trumpkin."

"I'll wait then."

"My lady, he gave orders that you were to be admitted at any time, no matter who he was with."

Blinking, Susan quickly thought it through and decided to take advantage of it this once. "Thank you for telling me." She opened the door and walked in, leaving the man staring after her.

Caspian and Presand both rose when they saw her, but both also stared at her uncomprehendingly. Trumpkin just grinned. Her face was sunburnt and filthy, her clothing caked with dirt and sweat. She very obviously hadn't bathed in a week, but she dipped a small curtsey as though she were standing in all her finery before a throne.

"Gentlemen," she greeted. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

"You gave good timing," Trumpkin grunted, getting out of his chair and pushing it towards her. He chose another closer to the desk and she sank down gratefully, surreptitiously kneading her calves through her skirt. "We just got reports back from Antelito's scouts."

"So just how big is their army?"

The general started sputtering but Caspian just sighed. "Are the trees telling you?" he asked, only partially joking.

"No, they're still waking up. They were asleep for a very long time."

"Where's your guard?" Trumpkin asked suddenly.

Susan rolled her eyes. "Glenstorm, Rainstone, and Suncloud are taking care of the gear and then returning home. Mog and Swiftly are hunting, and the Mice are out in the hall." She arched an eyebrow at him. "Unless you feel I require them here?"

"Just checking, lass."

"So how big a force are they gathering?"

"We do not know," answered Presand, directing a scowl at the message in his hand. "They guard the only gap in that part of the range too well for the scouts to get through, but more are going in than out. Some supply wagons, but mostly everything gets carried in by the dwarves. Other than finding that gap, the scouts were not really able to accomplish anything."

"Why did you suspect an army?" Caspian inquired, pouring a glass of water from the pitcher on his desk. He took it to her, fingers brushing against hers with the gesture.

"It was just a thought I had," she replied with a shrug, sipping slowly. "I was thinking back on everything that happened last time, and it made me wonder what had happened to the Witch's sceptre. Glenstorm said he didn't know; do you?"

Shaking his head, the king leaned back against his desk, arms crossed over his chest. Like the other Telmarine lords she'd come to know, Caspian dressed for utility during the day, leaving the finery for true Court. "What can they do with the sceptre, if indeed they have it?"

"By themselves, not much," she admitted. "The hags can summon the likeness of the Witch, and give her a voice, and that's about it. But if they have the willing blood of a Son of Adam…"

"They can resurrect her," whispered Caspian, recalling his own brush of temptation with a shudder.

"We'll have to ensure his Majesty stays protected." Presand shifted anxiously under the confused looks of the other three. "Son of Adam…isn't that what you call your line of kings?"

"That would be Son of Frank, and no," Susan muttered, not quite under her breath. Trumpkin coughed to hide a laugh, and the queen glanced over at him with a smirk.

"Son of who?" Caspian asked.

"Son of Frank, the first Narnian king, not that it matters because that line died out before we arrived anyway. But Son of Adam-"

"Frank?" the king repeated. "That is a strange name."

"Well, he was a London cabbie before he was a king, so it's a perfectly normal name for that setting. He came to Narnia with the professor-"

"Doctor Cornelius?"

"No, not your professor, my professor. Professor Kirke. Lord Digory."

"Stop," Trumpkin told her. "Think. Translate. Then talk."

Sighing, the queen curled up in the chair, trying to decide how far back to take the history. Caspian looked away; something about the pose, child-like and innocent and vulnerable- always made it hard for him to think. "Be patient with me," said Susan finally. "I'm going to go back farther than we probably need, but it might be useful." Her azure eyes flicked to the general but she left it at that; the poor man was embarrassed enough. "But first can we send for some food?"

Caspian laughed, he couldn't help it. Walking to the door, he instructed the guard to have four trays sent up and Lady Lahatiel informed that he was dining in his study. On the way back to his desk, he tugged lightly on a lock of Susan's hair, much as he'd done to Queen Lucy aboard the _Dawn Treader_. "Is this a ploy for more time to think?" he teased.

"I have been running for a day and a half, I am famished!" she said plaintively, bringing a laugh from Trumpkin. "If I'm going to give an extended history lesson, I need to eat."

"Perhaps we should send for Doctor Cornelius?" the dwarf suggested. "It will take time for our meal to arrive anyway."

As it turned out, the professor and the trays arrived at the same time, the half-dwarf carrying a fifth for himself. He'd been down in the kitchens when the message came, intending to ensconce himself in the archives for the evening. He dropped a fatherly kiss atop Susan's head as he moved by her, startling her as much as anyone.

Susan shifted in the chair until she was sitting tailor fashion, balancing the tray across her lap. "It actually started before Narnia," she began, timing her bites into the natural pauses. "It started in London, before my siblings and I were born. There was a boy named Digory, whose uncle fancied himself quite a better magician than he actually was. His uncle sent Digory and his friend Polly into a wood between worlds, from which they could reach many new and strange places."

She went on to tell them the story as Professor Kirke had told it to her: of entering the ruined world of Charn and meeting Jadis, learning of the Deplorable Word: of accidentally taking her into London, where she created havoc: of taking the entire group into a world not yet born. She told them of the singing of Narnia, the creation of the world and of Talking Beasts, and too of Digory's quest to bring back the apple to protect Narnia, of seeing Jadis acquire her immortality.

"The man they'd brought with them became King Frank, and his wife Good Queen Helen, the first rulers of Narnia. Their children came to rule Archenland and Calormen, the Lone Isles and all the lands to the north and south."

But the apple planted by Digory couldn't live forever, and when it finally died, Jadis swept in, killing all the humans and declaring herself Queen of Narnia, and Winter began.

"Why did she kill all of the humans?" Caspian asked, looking slightly sick. "Why did she not keep them as slaves?"

"Because of the prophecy." Sopping up the last smear of gravy with a piece of bread, she popped it into her mouth with a satisfied sigh. "The prophecy simply said two Sons of Adam and two Daughters of Eve; it never said where they would be coming from."

She set aside the tray and resettled herself more comfortably before moving on to tell them of the end of Winter. She told them frankly of Edmund's betrayal but also of its redemption, of the terrifying journey to the encamped army, of Aslan's great Sacrifice and Return.

"Jadis was dead; we didn't think she could be resurrected. But at that point, we didn't know about the apple. We placed the sceptre with the Stone Table because we didn't think it could cause any further harm."

"What, precisely, can this sceptre do in the hands of the Witch?" rumbled Doctor Cornelius.

"It stores most of her power. Without it, she could not alter the weather, nor turn creatures into stone. But she had other, smaller magics, as well as a very seductive presence."

Caspian blushed.

General Presand cleared his throat, thinking rapidly. "Even if they can summon her image, she cannot be anything but a voice. Dangerous, yes, to give them a leader, but not so much as to bring you racing back to the castle, your Majesty. What are we missing?"

"You mean besides your malcontents? Who are all, in fact, Sons of Adam?"

In the shocked silence that followed, Caspian's voice blazed like fire as he swore, savagely and fluently.

The general regarded Susan with resigned pragmatism. "Are you sure?"

"No," she answered quietly, troubled eyes fixed on the king. "But it does seem likely."

"So what should we do?"

They both waited for Caspian, but he hadn't yet run out of words. Susan sighed and shook her head. "Your Majesty," she snapped coldly.

He broke off mid-word, stunned by the censure in her tone.

"The commander of your army just asked you a question. You might want to answer it."

He gave her a long, level look, then nodded curtly, turning to Presand. "My apologies, General. Please, repeat your question." The older man did so, and Caspian rubbed a hand against his jaw. "We need to know exactly what we are dealing with, which means finding our rebels. Flood the border with scouts, starting on the coast with the colony and working eastward to the mountains. Search for any sign of their passage. Queen Susan," he continued formally, "you have fought the White Witch before."

"Not really," she corrected. "Aslan defeated her. Lucy and I weren't even part of the battle against her forces."

"But Aslan will be here again, yes?"

Her lower lip disappeared between her teeth, her fingers fidgeting with a fold of her skirt. "Yes," she said slowly, hesitantly. "He always comes when He's needed, but not until the time is right. And He's the only one who knows what that time is. You have to believe He will come, but you cannot plan on when."

"But when you rode out from the How," he argued, "you knew you would find Him."

"Lucy had been seeing Him," she confessed lowly, and Trumpkin ducked his head guiltily. "But she was too scared to go alone and we didn't believe her. When we rode out from the How, we knew we'd find him because He was already there."

"So then why-"

"Because things never happen the same way twice."

He tried to find the answers in her eyes, but she had none to give. Caspian took a deep breath and turned his attention back to General Presand. "Send out a call to arms, discreetly, and have the soldiers here in the castle do more drills. Start seeing to supplies and gear such as we will need. We will not move until we know more, but neither will we be unprepared."

Sliding gracefully out of the chair, Susan sank into a deep curtsey and held it.

He curled his hand into hers and pulled her up, eyeing her suspiciously. "What was that for?"

"Because you earned it," she said simply, giving him a crooked smile. "Have strength, King Caspian. Troubled times come as they will, but we have endured them before, and will do so again."


	7. Chapter 6: Don't Hold Back

**Disclaimer: CS Lewis was a fraud. I created Narnia, me, ME!! And now I'm going to go take my pills and come back down to reality.**

_A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews! See how fast they feed the muse? Keep them coming!_

** Chapter Six**

** Don't Hold Back**

"You want what?"

"I want you to teach me how to use a blade," Susan repeated patiently. "If I lose my bow in a battle, I'm screwed. I need to be able to defend myself if something goes wrong."

Trumpkin scratched at his scalp, squinting up at her. It was tempting to tell her they weren't technically at war yet, but he had more respect for her than that. There was also the fact that she still regularly outshot him. "We can give it a try," he agreed.

He was as good as his word. Early the next morning, just as she was finishing her regular archery practice, Trumpkin appeared in the combat yard carrying four swords, two of wood and two of dull metal. The Mice halted their own exercises and came swarming over to investigate, their whiskers twitching curiously.

Swiftly yawned and rolled over onto his back in a patch of weak morning sunlight. "Expanding your playtime?" he asked dryly.

Susan calmly shot off an arrow that sank into the grass a quarter inch from the Leopard's ear. "A busy cub is an out of trouble cub," she retorted.

"Let me know if that works."

Laughing, she unstrung her bow and slid it into the ivory quiver, hanging it off the end of a bench. "So how do we start this?"

"Can you move in those?" he asked, pointing to her skirts.

She grinned and reached under the split blue overskirt, pulling the brown under-fabric to each side to reveal the seams. Though they looked like skirts, they were in fact trousers. "We had a devil of a time keeping Lucy in skirts when she was younger; she was always trying to keep up with the boys. Mrs Beaver designed these as a compromise." She didn't add that she'd been just as delighted as Lucy.

"And you stretched before archery."

"Of course."

With that, he held up one of the steel weapons. "This is a sword."

She gave him a wry look but didn't interrupt.

Trumpkin named all the parts for her, explaining what would be different on other types of blades. Before he'd even allow her to touch it, he showed her how to care for it, keep it clean and well tended. He showed her how 

to oil the blade, shaving the edge with a whetstone to smooth out the nicks and spurs, adding that on a battle blade, this would also keep the edge sharp. Then he handed her one of the wooden swords.

With help from the Mice, the dwarf started teaching her the most basic stances and forms. The Mice demonstrated, she copied them, and Trumpkin corrected her.

Over the next week, Susan learned that she didn't particularly like using a sword. She found it awkward and ungainly, painful to muscles accustomed to the smooth tension of drawing a bow. Grimly, she kept at it; she'd probably never be good at it, but she didn't have to be. It was only for emergencies.

After another week, Trumpkin took away the sword and gave her a pair of long daggers. She did much better. Though the dwarf scowled at the comparison, it was much like dancing. The motion was easier for her, it felt more graceful. In her bouts with Trumpkin, the Mice danced about her feet, pushing at her balance and footwork as if she were on uneven ground.

It was nearly a month before Caspian joined them with several young Telmarines, new recruits from the towns within a day's ride of Cair Paravel. He'd been working with small groups of them in the evenings, practicing one-on-one to build their confidence. He knew Susan had been working in the mornings and was loathe to intrude, but they all had to get more time in.

The young soldiers were shocked to see a woman in the combat yards, especially one so used to the activity. It simply wasn't something Telmarine women did.

She ignored them, focusing on Trumpkin and the Mice. Trumpkin was pushing her harder, and it took all her concentration to avoid getting more than the few inevitable bruises. He was improving, improving greatly, but she still had a lot further to go.

Caspian left the soldiers to their warm-ups and approached Susan. Her skin had finally become used to the burning sun, turning to a light tan dappled with freckles. He was irrationally content to see those freckles; they'd been slowly fading until she resumed her time outdoors, and he'd missed them. "How are things progressing?"

"Well," Trumpkin answered gruffly, mopping at his face with a cloth.

Susan grimaced, but then, she was so used to watching Peter and Edmund that she had no measure of her own improvement.

"May I test your skills, my Lady?"

"This will be short," Swiftly pronounced, tail thumping lazily against the grass.

"Your confidence is underwhelming." She drank deeply from a waterskin, pouring a small amount into one hand to splash against her face. "But all right."

"Really?" asked Trumpkin incredulously. "You can't even beat me at all yet."

"I'm not expecting to win," she shrugged, wiping her hands and reclaiming her daggers. "But working against different styles should do me good, yes?"

"Suit yourself."

Pulling Rhindon from its sheath, Caspian settled down into a loose dueling stance, nodding approval at Susan's low crouch. The first weakness he noted was that she rarely attacked when she had the chance, remaining 

instead in a mindset of defense. She moved quickly, gracefully, and her reflexes were good, but her blows and blocks lacked the necessary strength to hold her ground.

Susan, meanwhile, was growing rather frustrated. She'd seen Caspian fight often enough to know he was holding back. Part of her knew he was playing it out to do exactly as he'd said, test her skill, but instinct told her that he'd be doing the same thing even if she were good enough to beat Peter. And that was just ridiculous.

He finally knocked away her blades and they stood looking at each other, breathing hard. In a swift, sudden movement, she threw herself to the ground and kicked his feet out from under him, rolling away as he crashed to the grass. He propped himself up on one elbow to stare at her.

"Stop holding back because I'm female," she snapped, hands on her hips. "In case you've forgotten, Jadis more or less fits that description as well."

Trumpkin doubled over, nearly drowning out Swiftly's soft, sneezing laughter.

"I was just-"

"-trying to be chivalrous," she finished for him, "which is fine on a tournament field. Not on a battlefield."

Peepiceek gave a small squeak of protest.

Retrieving the daggers from where they'd landed, Susan wiped them off and slid them back into their sheaths at her hips. "Trumpkin, can you teach me how to throw a knife?"

The dwarf hesitated, tugging at his beard. "I'm not very good at it," he admitted. "You'd be better to have his Majesty teach you."

She glanced over at Caspian, who was picking himself up and dusting off. "Oh dear," she said without thinking.

Trumpkin chuckled.

"An exchange of lessons?" Caspian proposed, smiling ruefully. "If you teach me to hit the target with an arrow, I will teach you to hit it with a knife."

"Sounds fair."

Trumpkin shook his head but didn't say anything.

They began with the archery, though Susan's magnificent bow remained unstrung in the quiver. Telmarines used crossbows: though the range was less than a longbow, the penetrating power was greater, especially when it came to punching through armor. Susan wasn't terribly fond of crossbows, but she knew that was mostly snobbishness on her part.

Caspian knew how to load the crossbow, and even how to shoot it; it was just the aiming part he had trouble with. She saw why as soon as he lifted the bow.

"Freeze," she told him. She studied his stance with a critical eye. He was directly facing the target, the bow held before his chest. She shook her head. Standing that way, he'd throw himself off balance every time he pulled the trigger, which would send the arrow every which way but straight. "Never face your target that way; archers stand side-on."

He tried to emulate her as she demonstrated.

"Close." Dropping to her knees, she adjusted his feet so they were not quite shoulder length apart and angled perpendicular to the target. She tugged at his knees to relax them. Her hand was on his hip before she realized what she was doing- and blushed.

She hadn't really been thinking about it, she'd just been doing the same thing she'd done forever and a half ago when she taught Lucy. But Caspian was definitely not her baby sister. Face still flaming, she quickly adjusted his hips and got to her feet.

Swiftly's low growl let her know it hadn't gone unnoticed.

Clearing her throat, she wasn't sure if she should be relieved or mortified that Caspian was also blushing. She didn't quite meet his gaze as he pressed down on his shoulders to make him stop holding them so tensely. "With a crossbow," she said quietly, "you balance it by placing your other hand here."

He obediently cradled the front curve, resting the butt against his shoulder.

"If you do that, you'll dislocate your shoulder with the recoil." Susan corrected his grip, raising the bow to the proper height. "Now aim along the shaft…and shoot."

The quarrel hissed into the second ring of the target.

"Good." She tried to smile, but had to settle for looking away. "Now it's just a matter of practice."

He nodded gravely and busied himself with reloading the crossbow. A dozen bolts later, he stopped to judge his progress. Most were clustered around the bullseye; one had even hit the outer edge of it. Two had gone wide, but still hit the target, even if one of them had barely snagged the fabric.

"Not bad," Susan decided, feeling more in control of herself now that she wasn't touching him.

But she'd forgotten the other part of the deal.

The throwing knives he produced from his boots were lighter than the daggers she'd been sparring with, and had a very different balance. She spent a few minutes just tossing one from hand to hand, learning the feel of it. The necessary stance wasn't much different than the one she used for archery; that, at least, was familiar.

What wasn't familiar was the feel of Caspian so close. So many layers of clothing between them but she could feel the heat of his body. He stood immediately behind her, his hands teaching her the motions of the different kinds of throws. She wasn't sure if it was just her imagination or if the touches really did linger, but his breath brushed against her ear with every word.

Susan closed her eyes, gathering her strength. She couldn't do this. Not when he wasn't hers to have. She hurled both knives, sinking them into opposite edges of the outer ring. Before he could comment, she darted forward to retrieve them. By the time she walked back to give them to him, she felt a bit steadier.

"Thank you," she said calmly. "For teaching me. I'll be sure to practice."

His deep brown eyes searched her face, his voice emerging soft and intense. "Susan…"

There was a sudden cry from the opposite end of the field, followed by a panicked "Your Majesty!".

Caspian gave Susan another brief look before turning and sprinting to his soldiers.

As soon as he was out of hearing, Swiftly snarled furiously. "That was stupid!"

"Yes, it was." Her simple agreement seemed to take him off guard and she collapsed on the bench next to Trumpkin. "That's how I taught Lucy and Aravis to shoot, I didn't even think about it."

"If you continue to test your strength in such a fashion, it won't be long before it fails."

"He looks at you like food," added Mog, teeth bared.

Trumpkin passed her the waterskin, patting her hand gently. "I know you didn't mean for it to happen, but you need to be more careful."

"I know. It won't happen again." She gave a brittle laugh, closing her eyes against swimming tears and wondering if she could blame them on the sun. "It hurts too much to let it happen again."

--

Sleep was eluding him. He'd always slept well as a child, but since becoming king, his nights had become plagued with worries and second-guessing. He hoped that was a good sign- he'd certainly never noticed his uncle losing sleep over the welfare of his people- but it didn't make the long nights pass any faster.

Giving up, he rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of trousers under his nightshirt. When he opened the door, the guard rose silently to his feet. Caspian shook his head. "I am only going to the kitchens," he said quietly, mindful of Susan's door only a few yards away. "I have no need of escort."

The soldier nodded and sat back into the chair.

As Caspian passed Susan's rooms, he wondered briefly where her guard was. Mog and Swiftly usually took turns sleeping outside her door, and when they were out of the castle, the Mice took their place. He didn't wonder long, though; being Animals, they could easily guard from within as a human male could not.

The castle was oddly quiet, caught in that nebulous time between final clean-up and the first burst of activity. His bare feet padded almost silently along the cool stone floors, only a soft shushing sound betraying his path. He was grateful for the weak silver moonlight; he wasn't afraid of the dark, but he could still remember the absolute blackness around the island where dreams come true. Such memory was even more damning now that _she_…

Caspian sighed and shook his head, taking a shortcut through the Great Hall with its five empty thrones. Would such thoughts never leave him be? He loved her, but couldn't have her; why couldn't he just accept that?

Entering the vast kitchens, he stopped short and stared. He just couldn't win. Susan sat at one of the square preparation tables, curled up in a chair with her toes barely peeling out from under her white silk nightgown. Royal blue robe, turned nearly black in the darkness, had fallen from her shoulders to drape off her elbows, pooling onto the floor around the chair. Her dark hair hung loose to the middle of her back, longer than he remembered, but it had been growing fast these last few months.

His hand pressed firmly against his chest before he'd even realized he'd moved. Mentally measuring his self-control, the young king found it a little too lacking and eased back out of the kitchen. Well, he tried, anyway. He hadn't gone more than a few steps before his foot feel on something soft. It jerked away with a yip, throwing him off balance, and only a quick, uncoordinated grab at a counter saved him from falling flat on his face.

Susan watched him with wide eyes, one hand covering her mouth. It wasn't until he reluctantly drew closer that he realized she was doing it to smother a laugh. "You do know how to make an entrance, don't you? What is it with you and falling?"

Mog growled and skulked over to Susan to be petted. "He stepped on me," the Wolf groused.

"I apologize, Pack-brother," said Caspian humbly, with a deep bow to the Animal.

Mog bared his teeth.

"What are you doing down here, Caspian?"

Giving Mog a wide berth, the young man moved to the table, sitting kitty-corner to Susan. "I could not sleep," he admitted easily. "I thought something to eat might help. And you?"

"The same." She pointed to three small bowls at her elbow, one of ripe, bursting strawberries, one of thick clotted cream, and another of sugar. "Lucy and I used to sneak down all the time for this, especially when we were younger."

"How old are you?" he asked suddenly.

"Don't you know it's rude to ask a lady about her age?"

His cheeks flamed and he stammered an apology until he saw the impish spark in her eyes. Feeling absurdly relieved, he gave her a playful scowl. "I know it is at least thirteen hundred; compared to centuries, what harm can be done by a few more years?"

She laughed ruefully, rooting through the bowl of strawberries. "It was just something to say."

"Susan, really, how old are you?"

She gave him a long, level look before answering. "I turn eighteen in the fall."

"So young?" He tried not to laugh at her glare. "You do not seem that young," he amended.

"I didn't used to be." Finally selecting a strawberry, she swirled it in the clotted cream, then in the sugar, and popped it into her mouth. She caught a dribble of cream with her finger and sucked it clean, missing his wince. "I remember being older than you are; I was over thirty the first time we left. You don't just go back to being a kid again after that."

Caspian snagged a berry and ate it plain. "What is your world like?"

Susan made a face and repeated her process: select, twirl, twirl, chew. "Compared to Narnia?" she said finally. "Lifeless and dull, really, like the purest colors have all been leeched out. There's almost no magic. There's so much hatred and despair, so much war." She held a strawberry down to Mog with her other hand, and the Wolf took it delicately from her fingers. "Instead of magic, we build noisy contraptions that belch out smoke and poisons. We create weapons that kill scores of people at a time so that we don't have to see them die." Select, twirl, twirl, chew. "It has its beauties, I don't mean to imply that it doesn't, but…"

"But?" he prompted gently, a comma of wavy brown hair falling into his eyes.

"But it isn't home. Not anymore. We came back so different, but nothing else had changed. We didn't fit anymore."

"Coming here must have been a shock your first time."

Susan laughed and gave another berry to Mog. "You have no idea."

"No?" he asked wryly.

She shook her head, tugging her robe up to cover her shoulders. "You at least had legends, some kind of story you could choose to believe. We had absolutely nothing to prepare us for what he experienced. Flicking a strawberry at him, she garnished another one for herself. "Mr Beaver couldn't believe we didn't know who Aslan was. He risked his life to get us to Aslan's camp, and my first reaction to him was 'He's a beaver; he shouldn't be _saying_ anything!'. I mean, we only went into the wardrobe to hide from the Macready, and suddenly there was this huge world."

"The Macready?" he repeated with a frown. "This is a monster in your world?"

"Not exactly," she choked, feeling sugar burn her nose from the sudden snort of laughter. "She's the professor's housekeeper."

"Oh," he said, still not really understanding. He snitched another berry.

"When you were on the _Dawn Treader_, what did you miss most about Narnia?"

_You_, he thought, but did not say. He studied the legion of scars of his hands as he considered the question. "The Dancing Lawn," he answered slowly. "They could justifiably have killed me, but they did not. Instead, they chose to follow me into battle. I learned hope there."

She nodded distantly; that same feeling was what sent her time and time again to the Stone Table.

"And you? What is your favorite place in Narnia?"

"North-northwest, perhaps two days' ride east from the coast," she answered promptly, not even having to think about it. "The River of Crystalline Falls becomes very shallow and narrow, and then drops sharply into a deep gorge. It freezes solid every winter, and there are all these huge icicles clinging to the rocks, throwing back the light like diamonds. Or it used to," she added sadly. "It probably doesn't anymore. So many other things have changed."

"You fought a war against Winter and your favorite place is where it is at its most beautiful?"

"Yes."

"You are a very surprising person."

"Perhaps. But then, you don't know all that much about me."

"This is true," he agreed solemnly.

They watched each other for a long moment, and she gave in to impulse. Reaching out, she brushed the lock of hair out of his face and tucked it behind his ear. In the same fluid motion, she brought her hand back around her ankle. It was a simple gesture, one she'd done to all her siblings a million times and more. But this was something entirely different.

Caspian studied her face in the light of the sputtering candle on the table, watching the shadows shift and obscure her expression. Standing, he bowed over her hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against her 

knuckles. It was a Court gesture, something he'd done to greet various noble ladies a million times and more. But this was entirely different. "Good night, Queen Susan," he murmured.

"Good night, King Caspian," she returned, just as quietly. She inclined her head, regal despite her nightgown and posture.

He almost made it to the door before he glanced back over his shoulder. "Dream sweet."

Mog sighed and draped his head over Susan's bare feet. "Can I have another strawberry?"

--

When the knock sounded on his door, Caspian didn't even look up from his paperwork. "Enter," he called distractedly, trying to decipher the handwriting of his ambassador to Calormen. As soon as he got the chance, he was sending the man a scribe. This was ridiculous. Though he heard the door open and close, he didn't hear any announcement. After a long silence, he finally glanced up, blinking in surprise.

Lahatiel stood patiently before the desk, her hands clasped within her long sleeves. Her cool grey eyes watched him with thinly veiled amusement.

Caspian cleared his throat and stood, bowing stiffly. "My Lady, how may I be of service to you?"

"Lord Giorgio informed me this is nearly the hour in which you attend the combat fields. I should like to attend with you."

"Ah, you…want to watch?"

"I am curious," she said simply, white-blonde hair shifting in a shining fall as she shrugged. "I have never seen men at arms hone their skills, and I should very much like to observe Queen Susan at her practice."

He wasn't quite sure what to say to that, so he settled for bowing again. "It will be my pleasure to escort you, my Lady." He set the letter aside to deal with later; that Susan and Lahatiel could quite contentedly sit together for hours without saying anything was mind-boggling to him on so many levels. He had a hard time reading with anyone else in the room.

Susan was already there when he escorted Lahatiel into the yard, and had been there for some time. She tended to work in the early morning and evening, when it was a bit cooler.

Seeing Lahatiel comfortably seated on one of the plain wooden benches, Caspian shrugged out of his tunic and started stretching, watching the ancient queen. She was running laps around the fence, Mog and Swiftly snapping close at her heels. He was about to call out when Trumpkin beat him to it.

"Switch!"

In a smooth movement, Susan spun and started chasing the Wolf and Leopard in the opposite direction, arms pumping at her sides. Caspian decided not to ask.

Finishing his stretches, the king pulled Rhindon from its sheath and began the graceful dance of forms that eased his muscles into the greater demands of the sword.

"Stop!" Trumpkin bellowed. "Come drink some water!"

Susan trotted over and flopped gratefully onto the bench near Lahatiel, panting and red in the face. "Finally," she groaned, drinking deeply from the waterskin. "Lady Lahatiel."

"Queen Susan," the star's daughter returned serenely.

"Off with those now," instructed the dwarf. "You've been wearing them long enough."

"Gladly." Passing the waterskin to the bemused blonde, Susan awkwardly peeled herself out of two mail shirts, both far too large for her. She sighed with relief as the weight vanished. "Lion's Mane, that feels amazing."

Lahatiel delicately pulled back the queen's sweat-soaked collar a few inches, pressing gently against the skin mottled with dark bruises. "Allow me to give you a bath salt I prepare for my father; it will ease the aches and pains."

"Your father wears too much chain mail, too, does he?"

"Age and infirmity are less a problem than his stubbornness."

"Are you calling me stubborn?"

"Between you and my father is a daily, unpredictable contest."

Susan laughed and shook her head, rolling her neck with audible pops.

Caspian's one relief was that Trumpkin looked as nonplussed as he by the exchange, and he decided to ask after all. "Why are you wearing two mail shirts? That would stagger most grown men."

"Her idea," grunted Trumpkin.

"Thanks ever," Susan muttered. She swallowed some more water, purposefully spilling some down her face and throat. "If I can get decent speed with the extra weight, I'll be able to maintain good speed with my proper gear."

He blinked t her. "You are insane!"

"Please don't tell me that when I'm too bruised to argue."

Lahatiel laughed softly, a musical, shimmering fall of sound.

"I beat Trumpkin with my daggers this morning," Susan added brightly.

"Truly?"

Trumpkin nodded proudly, scratching at his scalp. "Knocked me right on my-" He glanced at Lahatiel. "-grass," he finished lamely.

Susan snickered.

Mog bounded up to them, tail wagging ecstatically. "Is it time to pounce? Is it time to pounce?"

"Oh, Mog, I'm not sure I'm up to that."

The tail slowed, an unhappy whine coming from deep in his throat."

"Fine," sighed the young woman, pushing reluctantly to her feet.

"What exactly does pouncing entail?" Caspian inquired.

"It's pretty much what it sounds like," answered the dwarf, watching Susan move to the center of the yard. "I don't know how useful it is, but it's certainly entertaining."

Swiftly pounced first, causing Susan to duck. She then rolled the avoid Mog. All three were in constant motion, a deadly dance of evasion. Caspian couldn't tear his eyes away, Rhindon hanging loosely from his hand.

It was a small mistake, perhaps from fatigue, perhaps the hem of her skirted trousers, but Susan fell back onto the field, two hundred pounds of Wolf planted on her chest. "Off!" she wheezed. "Off, Puppy! Can't breathe!"

Mog sheepishly rolled onto his back at her side, mimicking her ungainly sprawl. "I'm sorry, cub," he whined. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You didn't," she managed weakly.

Swiftly sneezed, his whiskers twitching.

Trumpkin walked over and pulled Susan up, helping her limp back to the bench, where Lahatiel wordlessly handed her the waterskin. "Done for the day, yes?"

"I probably should be."

"You're not going to be able to throw your knives with your shoulders that bruised."

"I did okay yesterday."

Glancing again at the star's daughter, Trumpkin bit off a curse. "Two throws, that's it."

"Deal."

Caspian shook his head and pulled the knives from his boots, handing them to her hilt first. "I begin to understand High King Peter better now," he said grimly.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

"Give me that before you hurt yourself," groused Trumpkin, snatching away the closer knife. "You're getting slap-happy from fatigue."

"Your Majesty!"

They all turned to look at the courtyard entrance. A group of guards escorted a pair of stumbling men, discreetly supporting them. The Captain of the Guard bowed deeply to Caspian. "Some of Lord Antelito's scouts, your Majesty, just come from Castellan."

Susan gave her waterskin to Lahatiel, who passed it on to the trembling scouts.

It was the elder of them who recovered first, a whipcord lean man of perhaps thirty. "We bring dire news from the north, your Majesty."

"Deliver it, then."

The man did so without decoration. "Nearly a foot of snow fell over Castellan this week past, my Lord."

_Kathunk!_

Every eye turned to stare at the knife suddenly quivering in the exact center of the bullseye, then back to Susan. She shrugged, all traces of humor and silliness gone. "It would seem to confirm the theory, wouldn't it?"

Caspian nodded absently, his face grave. Taking a deep breath, he clasped Rhindon tightly enough to feel the lion's head dig into his palm. "Captain, send out the word. We ride to war."


	8. Chapter 7: Slippery When Wet

**Disclaimer: We all know the routine by now, right?**

_A/N: I have slightly bad news: it's going to be an extra day or two on the next chapter. I actually do have a full time job, and with a big event coming up on Wednesday, we're all having to put in extra hours. Hopefully it won't be more than a day or two, but that is what actually keeps me fed and housed and such. And on that note, reviews feed the muse! So please leave a review; make me a purry kitty._

** Chapter Seven**

** Slippery When Wet**

For all their preparations, it was still another week before they could move out. 'Last minute concerns' were myriad and time consuming, not the least of which was seeing the throne safe in Caspian's absence.

Trumpkin was incensed when Caspian asked him to remain behind as Regent again, but the young king was adamant. "I need someone that both Narnians and Telmarines can turn to," he explained earnestly. "I know your skill in battle, my friend, but I need your strengths here. As I go off to defend my throne, I need to know it will be safe to come home to."

"And Queen Susan?" the dwarf demanded. "She's far more qualified than I am."

Caspian gritted his teeth, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He relaxed them with an effort. "If you can convince her to remain here, you are a better man than I."

Smiling slightly, Susan shook her head. "I cannot step in as Regent for the same reasons that I cannot marry: it is too much an invitation to strife."

"You are a queen. People trust you."

"The Narnians and courtiers trust me," she corrected dryly. "The ordinary Telmarines don't know me to trust me, but they trust you, Trumpkin, because they were safely ruled by you for a year. I may have more experience, but in this case, it you who are more qualified."

"You didn't come back to go to war."

"I came back. It doesn't matter for what."

"You're not going to listen to any arguments, are you?"

"Would you call Peter stubborn?"

Trumpkin blinked at the non-sequiter. "Um…yes?"

"He's not the only one." She dropped a brief curtsey and left the study, leaving both men staring after her.

"I tried," Caspian said quietly. "She told me our ranks were equal, therefore neither of us could give orders to the other."

"You're taking this awfully well," the dwarf noted sourly.

"I lost my argument with her over an hour ago," he shrugged, pulling the Royal Seal out his desk drawer and handing it to the dwarf. "We do not have time to persist in losing quarrels."

"And?"

"And if I give ground on this, I can win ground by putting her in my unit," he answered grimly. "If she insists on accompanying us, I insist on her being as protected as I can make her. It is not an excellent compromise, but it is a compromise."

Trumpkin cornered Susan in her chambers that evening, watching her prepare her travel pack. "What's really making you do this?" he demanded.

"I feel the need to."

"You-"

"If you're going to ask me to explain myself, kindly give me the chance to do so," she snapped. She sighed and rubbed wearily at her face. "When Peter and Edmund, and even Lucy, rode off to the wars, I was the one who stayed behind. I've been where you are, Trumpkin, I know firsthand how hard it is. But I did it. For years, I did it. But I was a sovereign queen then; if the unthinkable had ever happened, my position wouldn't actually have changed. I was an archer who refused to shoot at living targets, battle was no place for me.

"But I'm not the same person I was," she continued, starting to pace across the sitting room. "I don't enjoy killing, but I've learned to accept the necessity of it. I didn't fight in the last battle against Jadis, but I paid attention and I know her tactics. I'm a skilled archer, I would even say one of the best in Narnia. All of this I can do. But I can't be Regent."

"Why not?"

"Because if, God forbid, Caspian should die, I cannot hold this nation together. The Telmarines won't stand for it. Narnia would be divided again." She turned to meet his eyes, fingers clutching the key at her throat. "Sometimes the hardest thing about wearing a crown is admitting when something is beyond your power. You have to remain as Regent because you can do something I cannot: you can keep these people together."

He shook his head and scowled down at the floor. "Aslan should never have let you come back," he growled.

Susan gaped at him, mouth hanging open in inarticulate shock.

"As much good as you've done the rest of us, you've done nothing but hurt to yourself!"

"I've made friends," she protested weakly.

"You've broken your own heart."

"Aslan told me things would not be as I expected them to be. I chose to come anyway." Taking a deep breath, she started to check back over her gear. "I have to go, Trumpkin, because this is something I can do. And I have to make up for the things I can't do."

"You don't have to make up for anything."

"Yes, I do."

"You were always onto your brother for taking too much on himself," he reminded her, his blue eyes grave. "Aren't you doing the exact same thing now?"

"Perhaps." She smiled crookedly. "I've always been better at giving advice than taking it."

"Then take this advice: come back safely."

Susan kissed his bald spot, making him blush. "I'll do my best."

They rode out the next morning. Susan had acquired a spirited black stallion with a white star and hocks, a half-brother to Destrier. It was actually a rather small group that left Cair Paravel at false dawn. Other units had been riding out over the past several days, taking different paths across the country.

Caspian had been sending parties to search for the missing Telmarines for months; he hoped the smaller partiers would feed into that illusion. If their luck held, they could get at least to the forest around Castellan before the White Witch knew they were there.

They rode as quickly as they dared, dismounting every few hours to walk the horses. Susan ran ahead with Mog and Swiftly during some of the slower periods but mostly stayed with the others. For all that it had only last a few months, training was done: this was the real thing.

On the fourth day of travel, they paused for a mid-day rest at the Sparkling River. They'd been making good time despite the lingering heat of late summer; a small respite would do everyone good. They led the horses to the water first, keeping them to small sips to prevent colic.

Caspian watched Susan from the corner of his eye. The pace was hard on her but she didn't complain; he'd seen some of his Telmarines slowly starting to respect her for it. It made him realize she was probably right in what she'd said. He still wasn't happy she was riding into battle, but he could grudgingly admit to himself that she had a point.

Susan wasn't thinking any such thing. Leaning against her horse, whom she'd named Phillip- she thought Edmund would approve- she was remembering a different riverside with a wistful smile. She and Lucy had played in the water like five year olds, splashing each other and laughing, a single moment in all the chaos where it was just the two of them. Of course, that event had ended with them up a tree, a Wolf trying to bite her ankle so it could drag her down and kill her.

She glanced over at Mog, who was sniffing at an equally curious fish. He leaned too far forward and slipped from the bank into the water with a startled bark.

Susan laughed and led Phillip away from the river, looping his reins over a low branch. She unstrapped her quiver and hung it over the saddle horn, following it with the stiff leather bodice. She left on the sleeveless jerkin over her blouse, much as she would have loved to cool off, out of respect for the men. Returning to the bank, she crouched down next to Caspian, lightly splashing her face.

"Another four days will see us past Castellan," he commented, his cuffs unbuttoned to let air flow around his arms. "It will get significantly colder then, I think."

"Snow tends to do that."

He flicked some water at her. "Be nice?"

"Why?" she asked with a grin.

He splashed her again. "Because I said so."

Susan retaliated, and the Narnians and Telmarines were treated to the sight of the king and queen playing like children. Swiftly prowled up to them, hunched low in the grass to avoid catching their notice, and gave Caspian a hard shove on the hip. The man lost his balance and pitched forward into Susan, knocking her into the river.

Caspian shot to his feet, absolutely horrified.

Sprawled in the shallows, soaked from head to toe, Susan sputtered and tried to push her hair out her eyes. Then she started laughing.

After that, Caspian couldn't help but join in, reaching out to pull her to her feet.

"You are so lucky you're still wearing your armor," she told him. "Otherwise you would have just been pulled in."

"I will humbly submit to your vengeance at a later date," he promised, bowing over her hand.

A centauress approached them, not even trying to hide her smile. "Your Majesty might wish to change clothing," suggested Ivylight, wife of Glenstorm's younger son Suncloud.

Susan agreed and retreated a ways apart, with Ivylight and two female dwarves to guard her modesty. She'd brought three set of clothing with her, folding them into her bedroll so they wouldn't take up essential space in her pack. She changed quickly, draping the wet articles over two of the pack horses. Swiftly was nowhere to be found.

"I am sorry," Caspian told her when she rejoined him. It might have been more believable if he hadn't still been chuckling.

But that was alright. Susan finger brushed her hair as best she could, binding it back into a tight braid. "You promised I could have revenge later; I'll be content with that." She had to fight a grin at his worried expression.

They moved out again after a cold meal, the ice sitting atop the drying garments to keep them from fluttering off the packhorses. The snow hit a full day earlier than they expected, the temperature dropping rapidly with each hour they rode north. They layered on more clothing and grimly kept moving.

When they finally reached the deep forest past Castellan, they rejoined the rest of the units, whose camps were dotted all over the woods. The trees were on their side, the Narnians reported; they were too sleepy with cold to fight, but they weren't whispering to the White Witch.

Caspian's unit quickly set up their own camp in a small clearing, constructing the tents in a tight double-ringed circle facing opposite directions. There'd been some debate as to whether or not to bring them, but they needed the warmth against the falling snow.

The king was back in the saddle as soon as the necessary tasks were done, calling men and Narnians to him from various units. "Show me what you have learned of the forest," he commanded.

Glenstorm nodded and took the lead.

There were some ditches and gullies that might come in handy, Caspian decided. He wasn't sure for what yet, but it was something to remember. General Presand showed him the main track the Black Dwarves used to get back to the gap, but they didn't dare follow it. Not yet. They would have to boil snow for fresh water; the streams and ponds were frozen solid. He sat atop Destrier, lost in thought.

One of the Telmarines, a native of Castellan and its woods, coughed loudly. "Your Majesty, we have not yet seen any sign of-" An arrow hissed into his throat, cutting off whatever he'd been about to say, and the man fell to the ground with eyes wide open.

"Attack!" yelled Caspian, Rhindon singing from its sheath. "Defend yourselves!"

A clutch of Black Dwarves became barely visible in the tress, armed with bows. Three minotaurs emerged behind them, carrying huge double-headed axes.

Grimly reining Destrier about, Caspian headed to one of the minotaurs, steel striking steel with a brief spark. Sharp pain lanced the back of his neck but he ignored it, focusing on his opponent. He shook a foot out of the stirrup and lashed out, causing the creature to drop its weapon. Skewering it through the chest, he kicked the minotaur off his blade and turned to ride down a dwarf. Destrier delicately trod over all the sensitive parts of the body.

It was short and ugly, but they left no one to carry word back to the Witch. An ash-blond faun caught the last dwarf in the back with an arrow as he tried to escape. The one Telmarine was dead, another man and a Tiger injured. Caspian put a hand to the back of his neck and brought it away sticky with blood.

"Kick snow over their bodies to hide them," he instructed, "and bring our soldier back to camp. We do not want to be here if others come looking for them."

Susan looked up from the fire when the king rode back to camp. She narrowed her eyes at the bloodstain on the back of his shirt, visible as he dismounted the black stallion. "You're injured?"

"A scratch," he dismissed, frowning at the soldier that took Destrier out his hands.

"Even a scratch needs to be cleaned; come here, please."

He thought about arguing but took one look at her raised eyebrow and didn't argue. He obediently walked into the center ring and took a seat on a thick fallen branch they'd pulled by the fire.

Susan gently pulled his hair away from the wound, clumps of it sticking together, and pretended not to notice when he shuddered. The arrow had only nicked him, but it had left a fairly deep score. "Ivylight," she called. "Can you look at this, please?"

The healer approached and peered over Susan's shoulder, probing the wound with delicate fingers. "It should not require stitching," she decided. "Clean it and bandage it, it should be fine. Let me get you something for it."

"I did not know you were trained as a healer."

"I'm not," Susan answered, keeping the hair from falling back into the blood. "I can clean a wound and bandage it, that's it. Everyone can do that. And every warrior should be able to do that."

Ivylight returned with an opaque glass bottle, a cloth, and two long strips of bandages.

"Here, hold your hair up." Wetting the cloth from the bottle, Susan pressed it against the wound, eliciting a pained yelp from Caspian.

"What is that?!" he demanded, flinching away.

Susan followed and kept cleaning the score line, rewetting the cloth. "Don't be a baby."

Hazel eyes dancing, the centauress politely hid a smile behind her hand. She was the most expressive centaur he'd yet met. "An infusion of alcohol, sweet chestnut, harebell, and cannabis seed," she answered calmly. "The alcohol cleans it, and the seeds are for pain. The other two stop the bleeding and encourage new skin growth. It might sting a little," she added.

"Well timed warning," he muttered.

"What happened?" Susan asked, folding one of the bandages into a pad against the back of his neck.

"An ambush, a small one."

"Did we lose any?"

"One of Antelito's men; they shot him before we saw them."

Wrapping the other bandage several times round his throat to keep the pad in place, she tied it off in a neat knot and handed the bottle back to the healer. Ivylight nodded her approval. "Any tale-bearers?"

"No."

"At least this way your throat will be warm."

He chuckled weakly, running a hand through his hair.

The centauress discreetly left them along before the fire, passing to the outer ring of tents.

Susan sat down beside Caspian, pulling her cloak more tightly about her shoulders for warmth. "Do you know why there are no Talking Hummingbirds in Narnia?"

He gave her a sideways look, lips twitching wryly. "I cannot say I have ever really thought about it."

"Reynard, a Fox who Swiftly rather reminds me of, told us once, when we were fussing over not knowing anything about being rulers. When the world was newly sung, he said, Aslan looked round at all the beasts He had created, and called forth select pairs to become Talking Beasts, to grow in size and intelligence. Not every creature was represented, for He judged their potential ability to use the skills He could give them. Many types of birds were chosen, but He looked at the hummingbirds and knew they would be better off if He withheld this gift."

"Why?" Caspian asked, pulling off his cloak and draping it over her shoulders when he noticed her shivering.

She smiled gratefully. "He decided they weren't intelligent enough on their own to understand what to think about and what to let go."

"To let go?'

"Have you ever seen a hummingbird fly?"

He nodded, smiling slightly. "Yes. My aunt was very fond of them. She used to put out bowls of sugar-water in the gardens to entice them."

"They beat their wings so fast you can't even see them, that's how they hover like that. There is no logical reason why they should be able to beat their wings that fast. But they don't know that. If they had to think about how, they probably wouldn't be able to do it. And that's why there are no Talking Hummingbirds. Aslan gave them 

the blessing of leaving them as they were, symbols that belief, if strong enough, can overcome knowledge to achieve the impossible. All you have to do is keep that faith."

A long silence followed her words, punctuated by the pop of the flames and the distant murmurs of the soldiers. "I am not entirely sure how that applies," he said finally.

"Not yet. But you will be, which is exactly what Reynard told us. When the time is right, you'll understand."

"I may not have said this recently, but you are a very unusual person."

She laughed and got to her feet, giving him back his cloak. "Good night, Caspian."

His brown eyes watched her duck into her tent and tie the flap, leaving the bottom loose for Mog, Swiftly, and the Mice. A soft smile touched his lips and he shook his head. "Good night," he whispered. "Dream sweet."

--

Susan groaned as she pulled herself up over the last ledge, Caspian helping her to her feet. They'd climbed halfway up a mountain and the damn man didn't even look winded.

"One of the gryphons found this for us," explained General Presand, ducking into the cave. "They also found us two other gaps into the valley. One of them will be narrow for the horses and centaurs, but I will point it out to you. This cave goes all the way through."

Two Red Dwarves planted themselves just within the entrance with bows and arrows, another two following them through to guard the other side. Once they saw daylight, they crouched down and crawled to the edge of the ledge.

The view was breathtaking. The valley was formed by the meeting of three small peaks, the shortest in the foothills. A palace of black ice soared more of less in the center, guards stationed at the towers and goblins flying sweeps overhead. In the grey stone courtyard, soldiers trained in the thick snow: Black Dwarves, Hags, some minotaurs and satyrs, Dark Beasts, and finally, the missing Telmarines in their chain mail and studded jerkins.

Susan stifled another groan, Caspian doing the same thing at her side. They shared a wry look, same thought in their minds. "We should have painted everyone's armor before we left," he muttered.

"No statuary yet," Susan noted. "Maybe she's conserving her power?"

"And this is a good thing for us how?"

"It might mean she needs to."

"If we are going to make use of the Birds and Gryphons during battle, we will need to clear the skies of those creatures first."

Susan followed the line of Presand's arm up to the sky, watching a claw-winged monstrosity circle around the tallest spire. "Goblins," she told him.

"Has there been any sign of the White Witch herself?"

"No, your Majesty. None of our soldiers have caught sight of her. Our next problem is the contingent at the main gap." The general gestured to his right, all three humans shifting closer to the edge to get a better look. A full squad of guards was stationed there at all times; their guardhouse was little less than a miniature fortress. "At the first sign of something not being as it should, the entire building empties."

"Let us go back and tell the others," Caspian decided. "We need to come up with some way to tell out forces apart."

Susan was quiet on the way back, partly from the effort of climbing back down the slope and partly from thought. She listened with only half an ear as Caspian and Presand shared their intelligence with the other commanders. At the suggestion of Captain Alafair, head of the archers and the nephew of Lord Antelito, two units were to travel back to Castellan and acquire cloth for armbands. It wasn't the best way to differentiate the two armies, but it was the fastest and easiest.

"We need to buy time, don't we?" Susan murmured to Glenstorm.

"Time, your Majesty?"

"To get to Castellan and back. They've got to know we're here by now, what with that ambush party not coming back."

"Have you an idea?"

"Possibly…" She squinted up at the thick canopy, trying to think it through from every angle before saying anything more. "Quite possibly."

He waited patiently, muscled chest bare beneath his armor in spite of the cold. When she slowly outlined her idea, he gave it the same steady attention he gave the stars overhead, a deep frown creasing his face.

"If they did the intelligent thing, they'd retreat back through the gap, essentially locking themselves in."

"Would it not make it harder to attack them there later?"

"Not with the plan his Majesty has devised; a lot of noise at those other two points will pull them deeper into the valley to investigate."

The centaur nodded gravely. "Some details would benefit from more opinion, but I think it a good plan. You should present it to them."

She coughed delicately into her hand. "I was hoping you might do that for me," she said, her voice low.

He gave her a long, level look. "It is a good plan," he repeated, folding his arms across his chest. "Why should who delivers it affect that?"

"To the Telmarines, I am female."

"You are female to the Narnians, as well."

"But to the Narnians it is not a handicap," she pointed out. "I don't need the credit, Glenstorm; I just needed to find out if it would work."

"As you will." Glenstorm cleared his throat loudly, garnering the attention of the other commanders. "If I may?"

"Of course, Glenstorm," answered Caspian, pushing his dark hair out of his eyes. "You know your counsel is always welcome."

In his deep, smooth voice, the centaur told them Susan's plan, fairly pointing out what he perceived to be its strengths and weaknesses. Perhaps surprisingly, the first response did not come from a Telmarine, but from a dwarf. Corkin was tall for his kind, with his long blond beard braided with bits of leather. "An ambush like that…" He shook his head unhappily. "Twould be near like murder."

"It would be war," returned General Presand, "and no less than what they did to us last night."

"If we become obsessed with retaliation, we will be mo better than they are," observed a faun. "We will never have peace."

"We will have peace," said Caspian firmly, and they all turned to look at him. "Though we earn it in blood, we will have peace. We have not come this far to be denied. If we must choose between our people's safety and our honor, the choice is a simple one: what use is our honor in the hands of the White Witch? This plan can give us the time we need; now we need to improve upon it."

Susan continued to study him ever after the discussion resumed, wondering if this was the leader Glenstorm and the others had seen at the Dancing Lawn.

The Telmarines were still resistant to the plan, though they objected to the tactics rather than the approach. The Narnians had had a thousand years to become accustomed to hiding; the Telmarines had spent the same period of time terrified of open water and deep forest. Their fighting was done in broad fields. Most of the men even now were nervous in the heavy forest.

Alafair, in particular, was vocal against it. "For all we know, they will come pouring from the gap and we will have a full-scale assault on our hands. They may not even take the bait!"

"Which is it to be, Captain?" inquired Susan, pulling her woolen cloak close about her. "All or nothing?"

"That is fine for you to say, your Majesty," he protested. "You will be safe in camp-"

"I'll encourage no one to take risks I am not willing to myself endure," she cut him off icily. "I'll be up in the trees with your archers."

Caspian closed his eyes.

The captain blinked and scowled. "Your Majesty-"

"Are you suggesting there's something lacking in my skill?"

Alafair had fought in the battle at Aslan's How, and he remembered seeing the mail-clad queen standing atop the grass-covered stone. He remembered seeing her scarlet-fletched arrows seeking death as they sang from her bow. Seeking and finding; he hadn't seen a single one miss. He swallowed hard and shook his head. "I doubt neither your skill nor your courage, my Lady, but battle is a vicious thing-"

"Give it up," muttered Presand, who- while no happier about it- was at least more pragmatic. He also knew the queen's stubborn streak.

"Captain, as you so generously concerned with the queen's safety, you may remain at her side during the battle."

Alafair noted the expression on the king's face and made a silent bow.

Rising to his feet, the general tugged down his studded jerkin. "With your leave, your Majesty, I will begin the preparations and select the units for Castellan."

"Can we do this tomorrow?"

"Yes, I think we can."

"Then see to it." As the others dispersed to their own encampments, Caspian took Susan by the elbow and pulled her into the trees. "May I have a word with you, my Lady?"

"Is that actually a request?" she asked dryly, stumbling along after him. "From where I'm standing, it doesn't much seem like one."

He didn't stop until they were out of immediate earshot of the camp, turning to face her with flashing eyes. "Is there anything, anything at all I can say to convince you to remain in camp?"

She stared at him, shaking her head numbly. "No," she answered softly. "Caspian-"

"I need you to be safe!"

"If you meant me to be safe, you should have locked me in the cellars of Cair Paravel," she hissed, pulling away from him. "I am a Queen of Narnia-"

"But not a sovereign one, as you have reminded us all too often," he snapped harshly. "As such, you answer to me, and if I give you an order, you have to obey it. If I order you to remain in camp tomorrow, will you do so?"

She glared at him and didn't answer.

Swearing fluently, he raked a hand through his hair in frustration.

"I have fought for this land before-"

"This is not about your duties as a queen!" he cried, gripping her by the shoulders. "This is about me needing you to be safe! I cannot concentrate if I think you are in danger." He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, burying his face in her hair. "I need to know that whatever happens, you will be all right."

Her heart pounding in her throat, she weakly shook her head. She couldn't think rationally with him so close.

"Please," he whispered.

"I didn't ride to battle to watch."

He lifted her chin with a calloused finger, their faces only inches apart. His breath washed over her cheek. "Susan, please."

She broke away, roughly shaking out her cloak. "Get some rest, your Majesty," she said coldly, praying her voice didn't shake. "You'll need all your wits about you tomorrow."

Caspian let her walk away, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against a tree trunk. He almost laughed when he heard several Mice scurrying out of their hiding places in the leaves to follow the queen. He had almost betrayed his own honor, and hers; would her guards have stopped him?

Swiftly growled from the shadows.

That was a yes.


	9. Chapter 8: Fear the Woods

**Disclaimer: All pieces of Narnia belong to the CS Lewis Estate and Disney; I just drool.**

_A/N: Or maybe not…this chapter went a lot faster than I thought it would…So please reward me by reviewing! I'm obviously not above begging, and they really make my day._

** Chapter Eight**

** Fear the Woods**

One of the problems- and advantages- to the plan was that few of the trees had branches low enough to facilitate climbing. It gave the archers a measure of protection, true, but it also mean that everyone spent the first part of the morning boosting the archers up. It was made especially comical- though no dared laugh- by the sight of the dwarves stacking atop each other like living ladders.

It was maddening to Caspian to be preparing for battle with fully half his forces wearing only leather armor, but he understood the reasoning. The sun had a way of flashing off metal; it was more important for the archers to remain hidden that to have that extra barrier. They absolutely had to remain hidden; no mail, no talking, no sound. Caspian had stressed that to all those going up into the tree cover: even if you get hit, do not cry out.

He heard soft conversation behind him but didn't turn around, concentrating on giving Captain Alafair the push he needed to get onto the lowest branch. He identified Ivylight and Susan by their voices, and wondered what Ivylight was doing so far from the healers.

"Wherever did you get those?" asked the centauress.

"I nicked them from Peter's wardrobe. Skirts can be very versatile, but they can also be a bloody menace. They certainly don't belong up a tree."

"You have legs!" announced Caper with a grin, wiggling his ears at her from the knot of other healers. They would return to the main camp as soon as the archers were in position.

Glancing over his shoulder, Caspian froze, his brown eyes wide. Susan was wearing trousers. They didn't fit terribly well, loose in the legs and stretching cross her hips to be covered by her blouse, but it still defined portions of her anatomy that were customarily obscured. He'd seen Lucy in trousers, of course- his own trousers, as a matter of fact- when she'd first come aboard the _Dawn Treader_, but Lucy was still a young girl, with a child's shapeless body. The trousers didn't look much different than they would on any boy.

They looked significantly different on Susan.

He blushed and looked away, not wanting to be caught staring. She just kept making this harder.

Susan adjusted the strap of her quiver and came to stand next to the flummoxed king, her eyes following Alafair's ponderous progress up the tree. "Boost me up?" she asked once the captain was settled in his place.

"Of course." He bent over and cupped his hands for her boot, her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. They both lifted up and Susan reached for the first branch.

"Not quite tall enough, I'm afraid."

Caspian looked up hopefully; did this mean she was going to do the sensible thing and go back to camp?

"Can you get me up higher?"

He sighed and shifted about in the attempt. He was trying so hard to keep his eyes off her legs that he wasn't paying the greatest of attention to where he was putting his hands. His palm pressed against something soft, and all at once he heard Susan's shocked gasp, Mog and Swiftly's furious snarls, and Peepiceek's outraged squeak. When he saw where his hand was, his face flared crimson and he pulled away. Unfortunately, Susan hadn't been able to grab the branch and fell without the support, the both of them collapsing to the earth in an ungainly heap.

They sat blinking at each other, neither sure there was a safe way out of this. "What is it with you and this falling thing?" Susan asked finally, wringing from him a reluctant laugh.

Caspian carefully disentangled himself and got to his feet. He extended a hand to her but she was already up and studying the tree. "Perhaps we should try again?"

"Perhaps we should try something else," she muttered. She spotted Destrier a few yards away, watching his human's antics with placid confusion. Nodding sharply she led him to stand directly under her tree, handing the reins to the king. "Hold him steady."

He tucked a hand through the bridle for good measure, watching her mount the stallion in the usual manner. Bracing one knee against the saddle and balancing against the tree, she slowly stood atop the horse's back. From there it was just a short jump and some helpful tugging from Alafair, and she was up in the tree.

Susan climbed higher and settled into her post, barely visible through the leaves. She could feel Caspian's eyes on her, steady and worried. "Come back safe," she called down. "Trumpkin will never forgive me if he gets stuck as Regent for the rest of his life."

Caspian gave the tree a sour look and went off the join the ground forces.

The queen shifted her quiver so she could pull the arrows smoothly free, checking her sightlines through the gaps in the leaves. "Best aim is straight down," she said quietly, "but try to avoid it if you can. They have a lot of trees to guess from; no point in making it easier for them."

Alafair nodded and passed the instructions on to the next archer. A few minutes later, they heard the departure of the troops, and the order was given: no more sound.

For Susan, this was the hardest part: the waiting. Battle itself made time so stilted, spiked with adrenaline and fear and moments that lasted longer or shorter than you thought they did. The aftermath, while devastating, was at least busy. But the waiting…tension ate at nerves already raw and courage fled. She was fine during the battle, but her hands always shook beforehand.

They heard the pounding of hooves coming closer and she took a deep breath, fitting an arrow to the string. Their soldiers, flying from the direction of the gap, thundered into the deeper forest and disappeared. For one brief moment, absolute silence reigned, broken a heartbeat later by the rushed rhythm of boots hitting the packed earth, and the Witch's forces came into view.

Susan took sight on a burly Telmarine, loosing, and dozens of other missiles followed. She could hear the elegant hiss of the longbows, as well as the harsher twang of the crossbows, a deadly counterpoint to the pained and startle cries of those below them. She had another arrow to the string before the first had even it home. Her hands weren't shaking anymore, her fear shunted aside by the cold rationality that pointed out each new target.

But the surprise couldn't last; only a few moments of chaos passed before their victims assembled into a rough formation, the Telmarines trying to make do with too few shields. The Black Dwarves peered through the forest, trying to locate their attackers.

One of them shouted and pointed up into the trees.

Susan shot him down. This was where silence would be really crucial. She continued shooting, ignoring the arrows starting to thread through the canopy. A Red Dwarf three trees over clutched at the shaft suddenly sprouting from his chest, crumpling over on his branch. He didn't make a sound.

A few bodies tumbled down atop the Witch's soldiers, but more than those few were getting hit. Why hadn't Caspian circled back around yet? She glanced back behind her into the deep woods and a sudden pain flared in her left arm just below her shoulder. She nearly bit through her lip stifling the instinctive cry.

The crossbow bolt had gone cleanly into the muscle, but not too deep. She balanced her bow across her lap and took a slow breath, fingers curling low around the shaft where the head disappeared into her skin. When all the air was let out, she yanked.

Alafair winced and would have moved to her but for the frosty glare she gave him. She tapped his crossbow with the quarrel and handed it to him to reuse. He nodded slowly and obeyed, shooting a minotaur between the eyes. Both he and Susan resumed, albeit more slowly than before. Her left arm trembled from the strain of holding the bow steady.

A clarion cry rang through the woods, followed by others, and Caspian's men swept back into the battle from either side. The archers ceased; they didn't want to hit their own people, though they kept their bows at the ready. Blades clashed, discordant notes adding to the cacophony.

Captain Alafair tapped Susan's knee and pulled a length of cloth from his belt purse, handing it across to her. She nodded her thanks and tied an awkward, one-handed bandage, pulling the knot tight with her teeth.

A few targets tried to flee deeper into the woods but were quickly shot down. The rest began a cautious retreat back the way they'd come from. Caspian and the others encouraged that, herding the ones the archers didn't catch. Finally they broke and ran, chased by the king's men.

Caspian rode hunched as low to Destrier's neck as his mail would allow, Rhindon singing in his grasp. They broke through the fringe of trees, killing off a few more stragglers. When the last of the enemy disappeared behind a bend in the gap, Caspian reined in his stallion, circling his sword overhead. At this signal, the soldiers turned and raced back into the woods, the king following close behind.

The archers were already coming down when he rejoined them, shifting the wounded back to the camps for the healers. Almost a score of them had been shot down, and they were still determining the losses in the ground forces. His eyes sought Susan before he was even consciously aware of it, sweeping over the Narnians and Telmarines.

Still straddling her branch, Susan unstrung her bow and slid it into her quiver, strapping it back into its proper place. She could feel blood trickling down her arm, and the wound throbbed painfully against the makeshift bandage.

"My Lady." She glanced to the side to see Alafair giving her as deep a bow as his awkward position would allow. "I apologize for my words yesterday; I see now they were clearly in error."

She gave him a level look, the ghost of a smile hovering about her lips. "Everyone has to prove themselves, Captain," she answered softly. "I trust I have done so?"

"You have."

"Susan?" Caspian stood at the roots, trying to see her through the leaves. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she called down, silently daring Alafair to disagree. He shook his head and busied himself with his crossbow. "I'm on my way down." Susan eased down several branches until she was crouched on the lowest one.

Caspian grinned up at her, breath misting in the cold. "I will catch you," he offered, holding out his arms.

She wasn't entirely confident in that, but she wasn't going to trust her arm to hold her until she got a proper bandage on it. She rolled to one side and let go, barely registering the sensation of falling before she landed safely in his arms, quiver pressing sharply into her back.

Rather than setting her down, he placed her atop Destrier's back. He frowned at the bright blossom of blood staining her torn sleeve. "You are injured?" he growled.

"Not badly, and I promise to see Ivylight as soon as we're back in camp." She sighed and held up a hand to forestall further protest. "Your Majesty, there's nothing to be done for it here that hasn't already been done. I promise not to delay."

He forced himself to nod, swinging up in front of her. "Your plan worked well."

She gaped at his back. "But Glenstorm-"

"-would not think of putting people up in trees." He smiled wryly over his shoulder, setting Destrier in motion with a gentle nudge of his heels. "Did you really think I would not know it was yours?"

"I could hope," she grumbled.

The healers were already prepared at the camps, setting up stretchers near the fires for the best light and warmth; several of the fauns were stretching a canvas tarp over the clearing to keep the snow off of them. Ivylight and Mathilde- Corkin's sister- had a separate are for the women; not quite a third of the Red Dwarves present were female. Caspian escorted her to them, his hand hovering protectively at the small of her back.

"Away with you, Majesty," Ivylight ordered, her usual impishness replaced by the customary gravity of her people. "That's why this area is set apart."

He hesitated, then looked to Susan. "I will return to check on you."

"Honestly," he heard the young woman mutter as he walked away. "It's like he's forgotten that he's injured, too."

Caspian shook his head and sought out his commanders, finding them grouped together near a fire, out of the way of those working. "Do we have our numbers?"

"There are three or four for whom the healers have worry," General Presand reported, scrubbing with his handkerchief at a small nick over his eye. "If they survive, we will have lost a little over two dozen. We are not yet sure how many will be prevented from further combat." He watched Mog and Swiftly prowl through the stretchers into the women's area. "Queen Susan?"

"Thank the Lion it was just a graze."

Alafair choked and tried to hide it, but the king fixed him with a narrow look. "Ah…is that actually what she said?" he murmured lamely.

"It is not a graze, is it." He wasn't asking.

"She ripped out the bolt and handed it to me."

Glenstorm smiled thinly.

"If you gentlemen will excuse me?" Caspian gave them a jerky bow and stalked back the way he'd come.

Mathilde pulled a blanket over the body of one of her people, sending another dwarf back to her husband with cloth swathed around her waist. She scowled and planted her fists on her plump hips. "Your Majesty-"

"Leave us," he commanded in a tone people rarely argued with.

She didn't either, though he caught quite a few creative curses as she stormed off.

He turned to Ivylight, who met his gaze calmly. "Her Majesty still requires my attention," she said firmly.

"I can clean and bandage a wound, and I require a word with her Majesty."

She glanced to Susan, who nodded resignedly. Face creased with concern, the centauress slowly walked away.

Caspian's hands were trembling as he took up the bloody rag soaked with the astringent infusion. They'd removed the queen's bodice and jerkin, pulling her injured arm through her collar. Despite his fury, he cleaned the hole gently. "Why did you not tell me?" he demanded, voice shaking as badly as his hands.

"Look at it Caspian," she answered in exasperation. "It's not that serious. Or have your forgotten you fought an entire battle like this after your aunt shot you?"

"And even now, you will not remain safely in camp, will you?" he said savagely, winding the bandage around her arm and tying it off. "Even injured, you will insist on riding into battle, because you are as stubborn as your brother!"

"You have reason to be grateful for my brother's stubbornness," she hissed.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Why do you keep asking me that?"

"Why will you not allow me to protect you?"

"Because it's not your place!" she cried, glaring at him. "You are not my brothers, to have a legitimate claim to it. I'm a big girl, Caspian, I can take care of myself. I don't need you babysitting me at every moment!"

He only had two options, and he wasn't about to slap her. Grabbing her shoulders, he pulled her close and covered her mouth with his. She was responding before she even knew what _he_ was doing, much less what she was doing. When she had kissed him goodbye, it had been soft and sweet.

This was not.

One hand wove through her braid to angle her face, his lips working against her to coax them open. She sighed into him and he gentled, tracing her lips with the tip of his tongue until she was shuddering in his grasp. His grip tightened on her arm and she suddenly cried out in pain.

He dropped her arm but didn't let her go, sliding his arm around her waist. Leaning forward, he tried to resume the kiss.

Susan turned away, her eyes glittering with tears. "We can't do this," she breathed.

"Susan…"

"You are engaged! You are engaged to Lahatiel, you should not be kissing any other woman!"

"Susan…"

"You dishonor her by it," she continued frantically, her entire body shaking. "You dishonor her, you dishonor me, and you dishonor yourself. You have no business kissing me!"

"I have every business kissing you!" he retorted intensely, raking a hand through his hair. "It is the right I lack." He blew out a sharp breath and turned back to her, his rough fingertips caressing her cheek. She flinched but stood her ground. "How you must hate me…"

She swallowed hard, her eyes flicking back and forth in time with her racing heart. Her voice emerged as little more than a whisper. "I guess I couldn't really expect you to wait. You have a duty to marry and produce an heir. I couldn't expect you to wait."

"I thought you could never come back. I thought I would never see you again."

"It doesn't matter." She blinked rapidly, her voice gaining strength. "What might have been doesn't matter. You're engaged. That's all there is to think about."

"I am not as strong as you," he told her hoarsely, "and I am sorry for it."

He kissed her again, and when he gently bit her lower lip, she opened beneath him. She shied away from the first touch of his tongue against hers, but his arms pressed her fully against him, and she nearly drowned in the sensation.

Nearly.

Susan pushed him away, shaking her head. "Don't. Caspian, please, don't."

"Susan…"

"Just go."

She couldn't watch him walk away from her. She stared down at her boots, stinging trails of salt scalding her cheeks. Leaning against a tree, the young woman slid slowly to the ground. Her breath rasped in her throat, burning her lungs as it caught and choked.

Padding out of the shadows, Mog whined and nudged her shoulder. She threw her arms around the Wolf and sobbed, burying her face in his thick fur to muffle the noise. She sobbed until she simply had no tears left, as she'd been needing to since he first stepped off that ship and introduced his wife-to-be.

Her sobs faded into hiccups and sniffles, the wound in her arm throbbing. He'd tied the knot too tight.

In a rare show of affection, Swiftly nuzzled her Susan's face, his sandpaper tongue licking the tears off her cheek. "I'm proud of you, Cub," he said quietly.

"Oh, Swiftly."

"I'm proud of you," he repeated, his deep purr soothing her panic before it could overwhelm her. "You're a good cub."

She gave a watery chuckle and leaned her head against him. "Oh, Swiftly."


	10. Chapter 9: Vantage Point

**Disclaimer: The usual stuff, it's still not mine. Unfortunately.**

_A/N: The bit with Caspian helping Susan up the tree is the previous chapter? That's actually a nod to an experience I had once at Boy Scout camp; the boys got the football stuck in the tree, and I was the only one who could get it. The kid giving me a boost up accidentally grabbed my bum right as my mother walked up. I don't think he EVER lived it down. And on that note, please leave a review! You all start off my mornings so incredibly well when you do that!_

**Chapter Nine**

** Vantage Point**

The next afternoon found Susan, Caspian, and Presand back atop the ledge overlooking the Witch's Valley. The hike up the mountain had been accomplished in tense silence, Presand glancing back and forth between the two monarchs. Susan might have found it amusing had her nerves not been frayed past humor.

Her left arm was throbbing against the neat bandage; Ivylight had cleaned it again during the morning, smearing it with a salve that numbed it for a little while but had long since worn off. Caspian seemed torn between chivalry and avoidance; even without being near him, she could see his jaw clenching. The general didn't know what had happened, but he certainly knew something had. Peepiceek and his Mice had joined them this time, and if the others noticed they stayed between Caspian and Susan…well, there were the Queen's Guard, after all.

Susan stretched out on her stomach, sapphire eyes studying the far side of the basin. She could see the two other gaps they'd been shown last time; even taking distance into account, one of them looked to be little more than a goat trail. Turning her attention to the castle, she tried to determine if there was any obvious weakness.

The black ice was opaque and seamless, appearing as solid as the mountains all around it. There were some lines she thought might be windows, but the uniform color made it impossible to decipher if it was illusion or reality. It could be once huge room or a labyrinth of corridors; they had no way to know.

"Why would the rebels ally themselves with the Witch?" asked Presand quietly. The notion had been bothering him for some time and he just couldn't figure it out. "Will they truly profit from her victory?"

"No, although she'll let them think it." Susan caught Ripeeku by the tail before he could venture too close to the edge, ignoring his indignation. She could still remember everything she'd learned at Aslan's Camp from the Beavers and other Beasts. "If Jadis truly gained control of Narnia, her first action would be to slaughter every human within the borders. Every single one."

"Why?"

"The prophecy. Two Sons of Adam and two Daughters of Eve…Jadis met her downfall once because of it; who's to say it couldn't happen twice?"

Caspian glanced over at her, looking just as quickly away. "Your family again?"

"Doubtful," she replied evenly, "but another family might do. Things never happen the exact same way twice."

"For Aslan?"

"For anything; each time it's different." She sighed and propped herself up on her elbows, chin resting on one fist. "I wish we knew what was inside the castle."

Caspian shook his head grimly. "We will simply have to invade blind."

"Why press in at all?" suggested the older man. "Surely we could draw them out into more skirmishes, whittle away her forces."

The two monarchs shared a look, and it was Susan who answered. "For every day she remains alive, Winter's hold gets stronger. By not it will be nearly to the Sparkling River. It's almost harvest time; if we lost those crops to a sudden freeze, there'll be famine, and nothing to prevent her from spreading further south. Starving soldiers can't fight. A hundred years of Winter…" she whispered. "How many would it be if she regained her throne?"

"What defeated her last time?"

"Aslan bit her head off."

Presand swallowed hard and fell silent. This was the Lion Queen Lucy had so fearlessly stood beside at Beruna?

"How do we know she is actually in there? Could she be hiding somewhere away from her troops?"

"Possibly, but it's not really her style. She's rather ostentatious."

One of the dwarves on guard at the cave entrance came through, clearing her throat. "There's a Wolf below brings news."

Caspian gave Susan a quick look. "The Wolves fought on her side before."

"They will not do so again," she said with certainty. "The Packs created thirteen centuries of outcasts to remember the dishonor an alliance with her brought upon them. It is not her name they sing to the stars."

He wasn't sure to make of her small smile, sweet and sorrowed.

Susan crawled back into the tunnel and stood, shaking the dirt out of her skirted trousers. The men and Mice following her, she emerged back into the weak sunlight.

Mog paced under the ledge, unable to jump the gap. His tail wagged when he saw them, but his ears were flat against his skull. He watched them drop carefully down onto the trail. "They've returned from Castellan," he reported. "They brought you foodstuffs as well."

Susan knelt beside him, scratching his thick ruff. "What else?"

He whined softly, creeping closer for comfort. "The Packs are come, my grandfather's among them."

"You are not an outcast, Mog," she told him fiercely, digging her fingers into his grey fur. "You are _my_ Pack, and if their songs are as you say, that is no small measure of honor."

He barked happily and licked her face, his ecstatically waving tail knocking over an unwary Mouse.

They continued down to the base, where they'd left their horses. Susan swung atop Phillip, Peepiceek perching on the saddle horn. As they set out, Mog ran comfortably beside the stallion, making occasional forays into the underbrush.

When they reached the main camp, Caspian stared at the small wagon filled to the brim with heaps of cloth in various shades of blue, from a soft azure to a brilliant cerulean to a deep navy. "What is all this?"

Nightwatch, a sleek black panther who'd gone to Castellan, looked up from smoothing his fur. "Your Majesty wanted cloth for armbands."

"Yes, but so much? We do not have this many soldiers."

Alafair left off his conversation with one of the returned Telmarines, coughing to hide a laugh. "It seems my aunt had purchase the cloth towards a gift for Queen Susan," he offered respectfully, nodding to the bemused queen in question. "She also decided that armbands were not quite sufficient. Her ladies and maids spent all night remedying that."

A faun reached into the wagon and pulled out one of the items, a long rectangle of cloth with a large hole cut out of the center. He pulled it over his head and laughed. "Tunics! We have put these over our armor!"

"And unlike armbands, they will not fall off in battle."

Caspian grinned, an unexpectedly boyish expression. "Better and better," he said. He glanced across at Susan, who was studying the wagon with a faint frown. "Is something the matter?"

"What gift could possibly require that much cloth?"

He laughed and swung off Destrier. "After we take care of the Witch, you can ask her yourself."

She shuddered delicately. "No, thank you. Some mysteries are best left unsolved." She dismounted and felt Mog shrink back against her legs. "Where?"

"Behind the wagon," he whispered.

The Wolf that emerged from the largest Pack was the biggest Susan had ever seen, his black shoulders liberally sprinkled with silver. He was powerfully built, clearly a warrior, with a scar slashing across one eye. "I am Ygren, Alpha of the LanternWaste Pack," he greeted, deep voice carrying on a growl. "We come to fight the Witch."

The Alphas of the other Packs howled their agreement.

"You are welcome here," Caspian replied with a bow.

Ygren turned to Susan, ignoring Mog entirely, as befit an outcast. "Queen Susan, we will honor your name with our battle cries."

"My Pack and I thank you for the honor."

The old Wolf hesitated, several of his Wolves murmuring behind him. "Your Pack, my Queen?"

She laid a hand on Mog's head, not petting, not scratching, simply touching him in a clearly proprietary manner. "Yes," she said simply. "My Pack."

Sitting back on his haunches, Ygren gave her a wry look. "You never ask anything easy, do you?"

"Four years ago, the Wolves won back the right to their pride; doesn't that mean every Wolf?"

"We'll discuss it," he answered dryly.

"I look forward to it."

Mog whined.

--

The main camp had been cleared out but for the commanders, Susan, and the Queen's Guards. A fire blazed merrily within the circle of stone and log seats; the discussion was equally heated.

"To attack the castle is madness!" snapped Colonel Spazian, second-in-command of the Telmarine forces. "Who knows what traps lie within?"

"We are not deciding whether or not to attack, Colonel, but how to do so," Caspian replied, giving the man a stern look. "Please limit your input to that arena."

The colonel drew himself up in indignation, deflating at a warning shake of the head from General Presand. He wasn't happy about it, but he subsided. He'd served under Presand for many years; if the general had reasons for following this madcap plan, he would abide.

"We can't just go charging in from the gaps," Corkin pointed out. "They'll decimate us before we get halfway down the valley."

"Unless you force their attention somewhere else," Susan said, studying the image on the back of her eyelids.

"What do you suggest?"

Spazian looked scandalized at the thought of seriously asking a woman for battle tactics but Alafair ignored him; Susan had won his loyalty and respect in the skirmish. For him, she'd earned a voice just as surely as any man.

She opened her eyes and frowned thoughtfully into the flames. "In order to bring the gryphons and Birds into play, we have to get rid of the goblins. If we do so in a spectacular enough fashion…"

"What do you suggest, fire arrows?" the colonel asked sarcastically.

"That might make a nice prelude," she replied with a thin smile.

"So if we clear the skies-"

"We need to get them focused on the castle," blurted Caspian, giving Corkin an apologetic look for cutting him off. "Get their attention by the sky, alright, but we need them looking inward so they do not see us coming from without."

"The castle is ice," the faun Theo pointed out. "Ice melts."

"More fire arrows?"

"Or something like," muttered Corkin. "The dwarves and gryphons can take care of that, I think."

"Speak to the phoenixes, as well."

The dwarf blinked at Susan and nodded slowly. "Of course, my Lady. Yes, that will make a difference."

The discussion continued long into the night, trying to determine as much as possible before hand. They had to allow a certain amount of flexibility- things never went exactly right in battle- but as much as possible needed to be known. They decided how the numbers would be split out, who would be in charge of each section. They agreed upon what signals to use and what they would mean.

Finally, they called it a night. The next day would be spent issuing orders, double-checking weapons and armor, and all of the things one does before a large battle.

No one mentioned the farewells.

--

There was a feast the next night. The Telmarines shook their heads at it but it was the Narnian way, provided there was opportunity and supplies. Susan had been familiar with the impulse even back in England, most notably in the young RAF pilots about to head out on assignments. _'Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we may die'_…the Narnians may not have been familiar with the quote, but they were certainly beholden to the principle.

Susan understood why they did it, but she'd never done well with the pre-battle feasts. They started out full of laughter and bravado and ended in half-drunk melancholy, the night air steeped in ballads of home that were supposed to remind them what they were fighting for. She'd endured them before because she'd had Edmund to make her laugh, but Edmund was back in England.

Caspian watched her slip away into the trees while the jolliness was still in full swing, her cloak pulled tight about her against the dusting snow. Two Mice followed her discreetly from the branches, giving her the privacy she clearly desired while still providing protection.

He drank sparingly from a tankard of ale, listening to the noise that sprawled from camp to camp. Behind him, a group of Telmarines launched into a barracks room ditty that wasn't appropriate whether there were ladies present or not; even some of the dwarves were blushing. To his left, Corkin and Mathilde sang a hysterical call-and-repeat called _The Tisroc, May He Bray Forever_. But the one he paid the most attention to was in his own camp.

Matthias was a young faun with a shock of messy red curls, his skin more covered by freckles than not. He was younger than Caspian would have liked to be there, but he'd been orphaned in the last war, and the army fauns had been looking out for him since. In an impossibly pure voice, Matthias sang a legend every Narnian child had learned for the past thirteen centuries: when they were needed, the Kings and Queens of Old would return. High King Peter the Magnificent, Queen Susan the Gentle, King Edmund the Just, Queen Lucy the Valiant…they were more than just rulers to the Narnian people, more than heroes.

The Narnians had spent over a thousand years praying for their return, believing that one day it would happen. A few, like Trumpkin, had lost faith, but most had not. They had believed. And like the hummingbird, their belief was rewarded.

Matthias ended the song with Aslan's promise: once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen of Narnia. He blushed at the applause, tugging modestly at his ears.

Caspian drained his ale and pushed to his feet, strolling through the camps until he found Theo, the Captain of the fauns. "A word, please?"

"Of course, your Majesty."

They retreated a short distance away before Caspian spoke again. "Is it possible to reposition Matthias with the healers?"

Theo gave him a startled look, hands absently twisting in his scarf. "You want him out of the battle? But why? You'll break his heart."

"Have you ever looked at something and known it was too good, too pure for this world?" The faun nodded cautiously. "Matthias stirs that instinct. He is too young, too innocent. I bear responsibility for all those who die in my name, but if he were to die tomorrow…" The king sighed and shook his head. "His death would be a scar on my soul."

Still stretching his scarf, Theo considered the matter for a long, silent moment. "If you order me to," he said finally, "I will, but I would prefer to ask him. It's his choice; I would not feel right to take that from him."

"I understand, and I would appreciate your asking him." Squeezing the faun's shoulder, Caspian left him and wandered through the camps, offering words of encouragement where he thought they might be needed. The tone of the evening was mellowing, more sings and stories following the lead of Matthias'.

A tail thwapped firmly against his leg and he looked down to see Swiftly at his feet, whiskers twitching in disapproval. "The cub wants a word with you," he growled. "This way." He stalked off without waiting to see if Caspian would follow.

He did, though, warily. He didn't hold the Leopard above trying to kill him to keep Susan safe- as he perceived it. They emerged into a small gap in the trees, the pond iced over, and he was struck yet again by how beautiful she was.

Her hood was back, revealing dark hair loose and powdered with a fine layer of snow. Her breath misted before her pale face, her full lips red with cold. She looked impossibly far away, her expression caught in a serene chaos of sorrow and grace, of hope and fear.

"Susan," he breathed, and she turned to face him.

"Here he is," Swiftly announced unnecessarily. "Don't be stupid." He prowled back into the trees, leaving the two humans blinking after him.

"Ah…which of us was that directed towards?" Caspian asked wryly.

"Both, probably." She stared at him, lower lip disappearing between her teeth. She'd had to argue Swiftly into getting him here, and now that he was, she had no idea how to start.

"They call your rule the Golden Years," he said suddenly, and she gave a soft laugh.

"We were coming off a hundred years of Winter; Golden didn't mean perfect, it just meant better." She shrugged, the gesture restrained by how tightly she had her cloak pulled. "Maybe things were brighter. For as many wars and battles as we had, we had even more festivals and balls, tournaments and feasts, progresses and homecomings." Susan smiled, and once again it was that strange, indefinable emotion. "Narnia is the best thing to ever happen to us, at a time when things seemed like they couldn't get much lower."

"You miss your home."

"I am home."

"England, then."

She shook her head, voice gentle and low. "I miss my family. I don't miss England."

A long silence stretched between them, neither quite looking at the other, yet unable to look away. Caspian cleared his throat, studying his boots. Without his warm brown eyes on her, it was easier to find words.

"Lucy taught us something a long time ago. Edmund almost died fighting the White Witch. We nearly lost him, and there was so much we would have wanted to say. So Lucy started a new rule: never go into battle with things left unsaid. It's not a perfect rule, and we didn't always follow it even then. We learned how to make it work; we certainly had enough opportunity. We ignored the little things. The apologies, the guilt, those were trivial, we could leave those for later, but we couldn't hold back something truly important.

"One or the both of us could die tomorrow, and while I'm willing to accept that- because it's life, because it's war- I'm not willing to charge into it with important things left unsaid. So, here it is."

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, unable to bear accidentally seeing his expression. "I came back for you. I missed Narnia, yes, and felt out of place in England, but I came back for you. To be with you. Because I love you. When Lucy and Edmund told us how little time had passed, I begged. I sat in the darkness and begged Aslan to let me come home to you.

"And it doesn't change anything," she continued in a rush, helpless to stop now that she'd finally started. "I know that. It doesn't change anything, it can't change anything. You are engaged to Lahatiel, who is amazing in her own quiet way, and you will marry her. I just can't leave it unsaid. It's not fair of me to do this, it's not right of me to do this, but I just can't leave it unsaid.

"I love you. I've loved you since before I left, and I love you even more now. I love you so much I can't even imagine ever not loving you. I love your honor, your strength, and your courage. I love your humor and your enthusiasm. I love your patience, and your intelligence, your sense of fairness. I love how you are totally overwhelmed by the crown but haven't given up yet, because the sensation never really goes away, you know? I love that lost little boy look you sometimes get. I love that you dance so beautifully with a sword in your hand but have to count the steps in a waltz. I love how you mess up your hair when you're frustrated, and that you're incapable of appreciating the fine art of strawberry dipping. I love the look on your face when you're falling and about to land. I love how you're scared of Swiftly. I don't love everything about you, but I love so much of you that I couldn't list it all if the sleeping giant never woke up. Caspian the Tenth, King of Narnia, Emperor of the Lone Islands, Lord of Cair Paravel, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion, I love you."

There was a painful silence, and all she could hear was her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. Then he steeped closer, a twig snapping with unnatural clarity, and his lips pressed softly against her forehead.

"Get some rest," he whispered, his voice shaking. "Tomorrow…tomorrow will be long and hard."

Susan nodded slowly, numbly, hearing rather than seeing him walk away from her. Again. And yet, despite the fresh wave of agony, she felt strangely better. She'd said it.

And now she'd never say it again.


	11. Chapter 10: Let the Angels Commit

**Disclaimer: I only wish it actually were mine; can you imagine the fun I could have with it then?**

_A/N: A short chapter, I know, but hopefully not a boring one. Please review! If you want the next chapter in a timely manner, reviews will certainly help speed that along. evil grin_

**Chapter Ten**

** Let the Angels Commit**

They were almost ready.

After a fitful night's sleep, Susan had risen before first light and dressed for battle with Ivylight's assistance. Her hair was pinned back tightly in a braided crown, so as not to tangle in her arrows or provide anyone with a hold on her. She wore her brown skirted trousers with no overskirt, the sides split to the knee so she could access the throwing knives tucked into the tops of her boots. Over her brown long sleeved blouse went her mail shirt, and over that the brilliant sapphire tunic. Then came the stiff leather bodice, the belt with her daggers, the straps for the quiver. Finally, Ivylight had helped her buckle the archer's armguard over the inside of her left forearm to protect her from the string's recoil and the finger guard over her right palm.

It still wasn't dawn when she joined Glenstorm. Together with their third of the army, they journeyed through the darkness to the northwest gap, thankfully not the glorified goat trail. That belonged to the fauns and infantry under General Presand; Caspian and his forces would breach the main gap in the south. Grey light shone weakly through the gathered clouds as they settled in to wait for their signals.

Susan had left Phillip back at camp with the healers, choosing to go instead on foot. She was a good horsewoman, but she'd always found archery and horsemanship to be a chancy combination; she preferred not to have her aim impeded. She smoothed a hand nervously over her hair, giving all her weapons another check.

Dimly, she could see gryphons and Red Dwarves readying themselves on ledges all round the edge of the valley. Their timing had been carefully chosen, when the Dark Creatures would be retiring and the others not yet fully awake.

A beak brushed her shoulder and she turned to Luckliter, the current matriarch of the phoenixes. Her brilliant scarlet and gold plumage darkened with soot to avoid attention, the majestic bird gave the nervous young woman another reassuring caress. "Ease yourself, Queen Susan," she said quietly, curved beak clacking on the words. "Battles come as they will, and end as they should."

Susan smiled tightly. "Is it strange that I can't stop thinking about how jealous my brothers would be right now?"

"Narnia has always been fortunate in having kings and queens so passionate to defend her." Luckliter looked the queen over from head to toe. "That's what missing: the royal colors! Small wonder you're all atremble. Well, we'll just remedy that, shall we?" Tucking her head under her wing, the phoenix grunted and pulled out a pinion, holding it out to Susan.

She took it humbly, fingers tracing along the hollow crimson spine. "Thank you," she breathed, poking the feather through her braids in several places. "For the hope and…and for what you're about to do."

"I'm nearly eight hundred years old, dear. It will be nice to be young again." She cocked her head to one side. "I'll probably be insufferable again in a hundred years or so, though. We always seem to get that way at a certain age."

"I have brothers, so I know exactly what you mean."

"Is your fear eased?"

Susan blinked and laughed softly. "It is, my Lady, and I thank you. We shall protect as many of you as we can."

"Just focus on winning, dear. The rest will sort itself out."

Glenstorm shifted beside them, his massive sword held comfortably at his side. "It is time," he said gravely, his deep voice making it far more than a simple statement.

Taking a deep breath, Susan pulled an arrow from the quiver and fitted it to the string.

And so it began.

From the scattered ledges, the dwarves began shooting up at the circling goblins. The creatures dropped with bloodcurdling shrieks, clawing at the arrows sprouting from their skin. Before the skies were clear, gryphons launched into the air with dwarves clutched carefully in their paws, each dwarf bearing a brimming bucket of lamp oil.

Luckliter ruffled her feathers and prepared to take off.

As Birds distracted the remaining goblins, the gryphons soared around the castle of black ice. The dwarves emptied the oil over the towers, the pale gold liquid splashing down the outer walls.

With terrifying, musical cries that gave heart to all those hiding in the gaps, the phoenixes took flight, the soot falling from them to reveal all their splendid glory. They spiraled into a tight formation around the tallest spire. With another great shriek, they burst into flame, streaking down the same path the gryphons had taken.

The oil caught at they passed, the ice melting in hissing wisps of steam. A Black Dwarf on guard slipped on a sudden puddle, the buttress supporting his station giving way under the heat to send him crashing to the courtyard several stories below. He landed with a sickening squelch.

But all flame, even phoenix flame, eventually consumes its source, and the squalling chicks plummeted. More gryphons launched from the ledges, arrowing to the falling phoenixes and pulling up sharply. The dwarves they carried caught the bedraggled and rather hideous younglings in cauldrons of hot ash. The gryphons immediately retreated back over the edge of the mountains, winging their way back to camp and the waiting fires.

"Charge!" bellowed Glenstorm, rearing back and pumping his sword. He was met with cries of every sort; wordless yells from humans and dwarves, fauns and centaurs; snarls and howls from Cats and Wolves; shrieks from waiting Birds. And they ran.

All thoughts of fear flying from her mind, Susan ran with them, racing towards the castle in the center of the valley. The flames were nearly out now, and soldiers were scrambling from the building to meet the attack. She loosed her first arrow, immediately setting another to the string.

Descending from the southern gap, Caspian pushed against the stirrups and rose up to deliver a powerful blow, nearly beheading the Telmarine that fell to his feet. His human forces had been clothed in the palest of tunics, easily distinguishable from the midnight leather armor the Witch's men wore.

Arrows sang all round him, coming from every direction. Destrier ran down a boggle, kicking at another to send it smashing into a rock.

Men and Narnians fought and fell, others pressing deeper into the valley. Hooves rattled against the smooth stone of the courtyard and there the charge faltered, stretching out into pitched confrontation. Caspian dispensed with grace for quick brutality, wheeling his horse about to meet each new foe.

He fell to the stone, knocked from the saddle by a flailing cyclops. He groped for his sword the meet the next blow. The creature fell before the blow could, a red-fletched arrow through his eye. Glancing about for Susan, he saw her across the yard, pulling an arrow from a dead satyr and shooting it into a dwarf.

His hand closing about Rhindon's hilt, Caspian pushed to his feet. He couldn't worry about Susan now.

Swiftly tore the throat from a Black Dwarf, spitting it out with a snarl. Hackles raised, Mog fought at his side, Ygren only a few yards away. The Leopard knocked Mog down to get him out of the way of an arrow. "The cub is moving," he growled. "Stay close."

But Susan was as well protected as is possible to be in the midst of a battle. Peepiceek and his Mice swarmed around her, their short rapiers flashing in the growing light. One of them fell to a crossbow bolt, his fellows closing in to fill the gap. "Into the castle," Susan hissed, striking a Telmarine across the face with her bow. She pulled one of her daggers and finished him off, jamming it back into its sheath still bloody. Trumpkin would skin her for it if he ever found out, but she would clean them later.

With her loyal guards close beside her, the queen entered the castle.

Caspian was not long after her, leaving Destrier with one of his men. Rhindon sang in his grasp, weaving a bloody passage into the entrance hall. He could see bright dots of blue freckled amidst the defenders, others of his soldiers moving ahead of him. Colonel Spazian fought fiercely at his elbow, protecting the king's back.

Whatever damage the phoenixes had done to the outer walls, their fires hadn't affected the inner structure at all. It was unexpectedly lovely within, the black ice giving way to a core of pure green, tinted with the palest hints of blue. Smooth columns, increasingly pitted by sword bites, supported tall, vaulted ceilings.

There was a pained grunt behind him and he turned to see the colonel dispatch the minotaur whose axe was embedded deep in his side. Caspian caught him and eased him to the floor, leaning him against the wall. "Breathe, Colonel, breathe," he murmured. "A healer will be here soon."

Spazian tugged weakly at the axe, a bright bubble of blood trickling from his lips.

Caspian gently batted his hand away. "No, leave it there, man; it will staunch the bleeding until the healer arrives."

But the man was dead.

Grimly, the king got back to his feet and resumed his press inward, vaguely aware of Alafair taking up Spazian's place at his side.

Caspian and Susan burst into the throne room at the same time, though from opposite doors. Cool and collected, Jadis stood from her throne of ice and fur, garbed in a gown of black mail. In her right hand rested a gleaming sword; in her left, her spiraling sceptre.

"Well, if it isn't the upstart young prince."

Susan shuddered and kept her voice low. "Guard the entrances," she ordered. "Keep her reinforcements from coming in."

The Wolves, snarling at the White Witch, spread out along the walls, others following after them.

Caspian pointed his blood-streaked blade at the Witch. "You are not welcome in Narnia."

Jadis laughed coldly, stepping down from the dais. Her black eyes narrowed, glancing briefly to the side at Susan. Though she was bereft of Aslan's shorn mane, she was no less frightening than before. "Then come remove me."

Caspian also looked to Susan, catching her eye. "The wand," she mouthed, and he nodded his understanding.

They met with a clash of steel, the king and the White Witch. Susan had warned him but still he was unprepared for how skilled Jadis was with her sword. He drew his dagger with his left hand, using it to knock her wand away each time she tried to bring it against him.

The sound of fighting flared at the doorways but he paid it no mind, trusting to his soldiers to keep them from him. It was a frightening thing, the necessity of that trust, but every soldier had to exercise it. He stumbled and won a slash across the elbow, severing the leather ties of his mail. The left forearm sleeve draped over his vambrace, shifting with each movement.

The Witch tried to press her advantage and he threw himself back, rolling away from her. The ice sent a chill shooting through his armor and mail, maliciously seeking out his weak spots, every point where metal touched his bare skin, to leave a kiss of frostbite. He shoved himself up, his left hand slightly numb from pushing off.

Spotting one of the Telmarine malcontents trying to creep up on the king, Susan slid one of the knives from her boot, flipping it to catch it by the blade. She hurled it in one smooth movement, catching the man through his open mouth with enough force to send the steel peeking out the back of his skull.

Swiftly glanced at her. "Were you aiming for his mouth?"

"No, for his throat."

"Good enough."

Locking hilts with the Witch, Caspian shoved her back, lashing out with his foot to make her stumble over the hem of her gown. His sharp thrust was parried and she recovered too swiftly for him to press.

A sudden, agonized bark rang out over the cacophony and he turned involuntarily to see what it was. Mog flew across the hall and crashed into one of the walls, leaving a long smear of crimson on the ice as he tumble down, split nearly in two. Swiftly's snarl and Susan's cry filled Caspian's ears as he stared in shock.

The Witch spied her chance and hefted- not her sword- but her wand.

"Caspian!"

He turned, still stunned, and saw Susan heading towards him, saw the Witch in motion. Susan pushed him hard, sending him sprawling. The wand was still moving.

She made the decision before she even realized there was a choice. The queen threw herself forward at Jadis, feeling the ice crystal penetrate her armor and mail as smoothly as if it weren't there at all. Even as she felt the paralysis begin, she clutched the wand with both hands.

All the breath left Caspian's body as he saw the dead grey spread through Susan; her clothes, her expression, even the individual strands of hair that had fallen loose from her braids freezing into stone. Jadis tugged at the wand to free it but couldn't pry it loose from Susan's curled hands.

There was a snarl, and Caspian couldn't tell if it came from him or Swiftly. Once again he shoved to his feet, swinging his sword in a wide arc. Jadis countered it but he was already flowing into his next attack. He would always remember the look on her face- the fury, and somehow the fear- as he swung.

Swung and severed the Witch's head from her body, the sword of the High King singing with a Lion's thunderous roar. Her head landed on the steps, her blonde hair soaking up the dark blood as her body collapsed in a heap of black washed mail. The fighting at the doors continued; surrender was not an option this time, not for the traitors who would have destroyed Narnia. The battle would continue until every last malcontent lay dead.

But Caspian paid it no deed, his slow steps taking him back to the ancient queen. He traced a trembling hand over her cold stone cheek. Even here she was so perfectly, breathtakingly lovely. There was no fear in her expression, no pain- only a terrible determination and compassion.

And love.

Tears glittered in his eyes as his fingers trailed down her still throat, brushing against the chain of the key she always- inexplicably- wore. "Susan," he whispered, voice little more than an agonized, broken breath. "Susan, what have you done?"


	12. Chapter 11: A Lioness Roars

**Disclaimer: Les Histoires de Narnia ne sont pas la mienne. Je reçois rien de l'argent. Ne me blesses pas.**

_A/N: So, yes, I'm a horrible person. I've always felt battles to be horrid things; necessary, at times, yes, but horrible nonetheless. Perhaps it comes from having both parents serving actively in the military. I can still remember worrying about them every time they were away, wondering if they'd come home safely. And I've never understood stories where only the bad guys die; that's not war, that's massacre. So, to keep true to the nature of battle, I hope you will forgive me for Mog's death; he was a surprise even for me, who hadn't expected to love him quite so much, but sometimes, the good ones die, too._

_A/N2: And, of course, please review. There isn't TOO much left of the story, so I want to hear from you all while I still can. And reviews keep the updates coming faster._

**Chapter Eleven**

** A Lioness Roars**

Glenstorm paced slowly through the courtyard and halls, getting a measure of the wounded and ignoring Ivylight's attempt to make him pause. She'd come up with several of the healers as soon as the battle had turned to start her work on those who couldn't wait.

"Father!" she snapped irritably. "At least let me slow the bleeding!"

He stopped and blinked at his younger son's wife. Ivylight was by far the most light-hearted and open of their people, but when she grew angry, it was generally better to accede, a lesson his son still occasionally forgot. Wordlessly, he held his right arm up over his head.

Loosening his armor, the healer folded a length of bandage and laid it against the deep gash crossing his ribs. She tightened the buckles, ignoring his wince, to keep pressure on the wound. "When you're done, see a healer to get it properly tended," she ordered.

Glenstorm touched her cheek lightly. "Thank you, my daughter."

She nodded and moved ahead of him to see who else needed her assistance.

Together, the two centaurs made their way to the throne room, where they were met with absolute silence. Almost absolute silence- on his knees before a dark grey statue, the king was weeping.

"Queen Susan," Ivylight breathed, her voice catching. "Ah, no!"

Glenstorm slowly crossed the ice, his hooves ringing loudly in the stillness. In a tight knot around the Queen, the Mice wept inaudibly. Swiftly he saw by one wall, standing over the body of the young Wolf. Glenstorm didn't have to look closer to know Mog was already dead; even Queen Lucy's cordial couldn't help him now. An older Wolf stood by the Leopard, head bowed in grief. "King Caspian."

The young man didn't seem to hear, his entire body shaking with tears and despair.

Glenstorm tried again. "King Caspian."

"She threw herself in front of it," Caspian whispered, words garbled by emotion. "She knew, better than anyone else, what it would do."

"And it was her choice to make," the centaur replied quietly. "Do not belittle her sacrifice." But tears burned in his dark eyes, though he stoically refused to let them fall.

"She should have been safe. I should have kept her safe." His voice broke and he dissolved into breathless sobs.

Ivylight, tears streaming silently down her cheeks, rummaged through her healer's bag and pulled out the diamond flask of cordial with which she'd been entrusted. She crossed to her father-in-law, holding it out. "Do you think-"

But Glenstorm shook his head. Only Aslan could help Queen Susan.

Others were finding their way into the throne room, falling into stunned silence at what they saw. The Narnians wept for their Queen, and so, perhaps surprisingly, did many of the Telmarines.

Matthias crouched beside the king as well as he was able, daring to tie a bandage around Caspian's injured arm. The man stared at him with bleary eyes. "You are safe," he managed.

"I stayed with the healers," the faun answered soberly. "Theo explained your request. I'm not sure I'm as good as you say, but…perhaps I wasn't that eager to go into battle after all."

Caspian nodded gratefully, unable to speak.

A shocked murmur rippled through the assembly, and the Telmarines instinctively stepped back behind the Narnians. Framed by the frozen double doors of the main entrance stood Aslan, in all His golden glory. The great Lion padded across the ice, paws making no sound.

He stopped a short distance away from Caspian, to one side so He could see Susan, as well. "Son of Adam."

"How could You?" Caspian choked before he could think better of it. "How could You let her come back only to let her die?"

Aslan let out a deep roar, startling the curious hummingbird that was flitting through His man. The tiny bird cheeped in alarm and zipped over to Susan, deeming the statue a safer place. But a hummingbird's memory is a very small thing, and it was quickly engrossed in investigating the feather woven through the stone braids.

Caspian stared at the creature as it hovered, wings just blurry lines. Its iridescent green plumage deepened on its head to sapphire and indigo, a vivid and brilliant spark amidst the ice and blood. It zoomed backwards, then around to the front, its curved bill poking at the slender chain.

He glanced fearfully back to Aslan, who regarded him with understanding and that enduring, terrible compassion. Perhaps it was just his imagination, but he also thought he saw a gleam of humor there, as well. The Lion was, after all, a Cat.

He looked again to the hummingbird, who landed on the stone wand. In less than a second, it was flying again, feather tips brushing against Susan's nose.

Faith, he remembered. Belief, if strong enough, can overcome knowledge to achieve the impossible. He knew Susan was dead within the stone. He knew that. But maybe…Caspian dashed the tears from his cheeks, leaving a smear of blood, and met the Lion's gaze. "Aslan…please?"

With a rumble that might have been a purr, Aslan nodded and came forward, lightly pressing his nose against the king's forehead. "When the time is right, you must draw out the wand."

Ivylight unstoppered the flask.

As Aslan's sweet breath caressed the statue, it seemed as though everyone else held theirs. The stone fractured into a fine spiderweb of cracks, flaking off her fingers to reveal pale flesh. It spread up her hands to her arms, creeping up her legs and skirts.

As soon as he saw her armor reappear, Caspian yanked out the wand, shattering it against the ice and tossing the handle behind him. The stone continued to fade, faster now, and as she crumpled, Susan cried out in pain. Caspian caught her gently, easing her to the floor and his arms.

She blinked up at him in confusion. "Caspian?"

"I am here," he told her, his hand trembling as he stroked her cheek. "I am here, Susan."

"Ow…"

He chuckled weakly and took the flask from Ivylight. "This will help." Very carefully, he let a drop fall onto her lips, and she shuddered. When he tried to give her another, she shook her head.

Ivylight frowned. "Your Majesty's wound is severe."

"One drop will let me heal on my own," she murmured, feeling the cordial burn through her veins to give her strength. Ghastly stuff, really. The pain receded, barely, letting her think. "There are many more who will need it, and it won't last forever."

Caspian bit his tongue to keep silent. Not two minutes back from the mostly dead and she could still infuriate him faster than anyone else he knew. "You should probably lie quiet," he managed neutrally.

She grinned, grimacing in pain with the motion.

He pressed his hand against her stomach, her blood warm against his palm. He could feel his hands shaking again. "Susan…"

Her face lit up as she looked past him. "Aslan!"

The Lion purred and nuzzled her knee. "Dear one."

She reached out and He moved His head so she could briefly stroke His fur. "I knew You'd be around."

"You were right in knowing Narnia had more to teach you," He said solemnly. "And are you content?"

"Content?" She rested her head against Caspian's shoulder, taking shallow breaths against a fresh wave of pain. "Content, yes. I'm home."

But Aslan knew what she wasn't saying, as well, and his deep purr eased back the agony.

"We need to get you back to camp so the healers can get a better look at you," said Caspian anxiously.

"Mog?"

He reluctantly shook his head. "I am sorry."

Closing her eyes, Susan concentrated on breathing. "Peepiceek?"

The Chief Mouse knelt and placed his head under her hand. "I am here, my Lady."

"Good. May I ask a favor of you?"

Peepiceek's whiskers twitched with emotion. "Anything, my Queen."

"My arrows?"

The Mouse coughed to hide what might have been a laugh. "We'll retrieve as many as we can," he promised.

"Susan…"

She nodded. "Yes, all right. I'm ready."

Cradling her against his chest- which is not a comfortably thing when both parties are clad in mail and armor-, Caspian stood. He glanced over at the Leopard.

Swiftly shook his head. He would follow, but he wasn't going to leave the Puppy alone.

The Narnians and Telmarines watched their king carry the wounded young woman out of the throne room. They had won, but no one cheered the victory. Not yet. Perhaps later, when their fallen comrades were buried and the grief wasn't as fresh. For now, the soldiers and healers went about the grisly business of cleaning up, determining who could be saved, who was already lost, and making the others as comfortable as they could.

--

Susan winced as Mathilde tied the last knot on the bandage winding around her middle, covering most of her midsection. The cordial had healed the worst of it; the rest of it was bad enough. The dwarf and her helper had carefully cleaned the wound, picking out the broken links of mail. Apologizing for the scar it would leave- which Susan privately found rather ridiculous- Mathilde stitched the gaping edges back together.

"Let's get you covered now, lass," Mathilde clucked. "The Witch may be dead but it'll be plenty cold for a few days yet; no need to have you laying about bare, pretty though you be."

She was too tired to blush. Sitting up with an effort, Susan raised her arms and let the two dwarves slide a shirt over her. With the younger dwarf, who shyly introduced herself as Isra, helping her stay straight, Susan closed her eyes and enjoyed the simple, powerfully comforting sensation of Mathilde taking down and brushing her hair. It was nearly to her waist now; it had always grown so quickly in Narnia. Luckliter's feather was carefully set aside for safekeeping.

Swiftly prowled into the tent as Mathilde twined the dark locks into a loose braid, batting aside the makeshift pillow of extra tunics and curling up in its place. The dwarf didn't even pause, gently pushing Susan back against the startled Leopard. Though he gave Mathilde a sour look, he didn't say anything.

The tent flap moved aside and Caspian ducked in. He was out of his armor, his left elbow awkwardly bandaged. There were cuts on his hands, one shallow gash across his forehead. He'd been surprised when Matthias pointed them out; he didn't remember receiving them. His eyes went immediately to Susan, noting how pale she was.

Mathilde glared at the king but pushed her assistant out of the tent. "Come along, Isra, there's others to see to. Drink your mess, lass, when you're ready to sleep."

"I don't think she much likes you," Susan observed dryly.

"I cannot imagine why," he protested mildly. "I have never been anything but charming."

Swiftly sneezed, but when the humans glanced at him, his eyes were closed. Asleep, to all appearances; they both knew better.

Caspian sank down next to Susan's bedroll, tracing her eyebrows with one finger. It was an oddly intimate gesture, and she knew she should stop him. She said nothing. "You could have been killed," he said quietly. "You nearly were."

She smiled slightly, meeting his dark brown eyes. "To die for Narnia? That's no bad thing, you know."

He kept stroking her face, memorizing it by touch. For the first time, the silence between them wasn't awkward or heavy, it wasn't uncomfortable or tense. It simply was. He passed his calloused fingertips along her smooth skin, relishing the contact. Her eyes fluttered closed.

"It was your freckles," he said eventually, lost in thought.

She blinked up at him. "What?"

"Your freckles. After you left, I kept dreaming of your freckles. I told myself that if I ever saw you again, I would connect every single one of them, finding every possible way to trace 'I love you' into your skin. I missed them when they started to fade. The first time I saw you, I was struck by your beauty, then over and over again by your bravery, your skill, your loyalty and intelligence. I dreamed of you for four years, even knowing I could not have you.

"And then you came back, and I saw so much more of you. I saw your strength as a queen, your dignity and grace. I saw you win respect among those with no prior reason to love you. I saw you play and laugh. Every time I look at you, I see something new and fall in love with you all over again. Even when you make me crazy, when I want to lock you in a dungeon to keep you safe, I love you."

His hand stilled, his rough palm cupping her cheek. "You are in my mind every moment of every day, in everything I do. You awe me constantly, and every time I think it impossible to love you more, I learn something new."

Susan could feel him trembling, but he never looked away from her. She wanted to look away but couldn't, caught in the intensity of his gaze.

"Susan Pevensie, I love you. I lost you once because I let you walk away. I nearly lost you today, but I will never, never lose you again." He leaned down but she turned her head, his lips pressing gently against the corner of her mouth. "Susan…"

She stared steadfastly at the canvas side of the tent, her hand rising almost unconsciously to clutch the antique silver key. She had waited so long to hear him say that, but she couldn't take any joy in it. "It doesn't change anything," she said softly, unable to look at him. "You're still engaged."

Caspian studied her face, catching her chin to gently force her eyes back to his. "I know," he said, voice low. "But it needed to be said." He kissed her chastely and stood, pulling back the flap. "The Mice returned with most of your arrows; Captain Alafair has claimed custody of them to clean them." The flap whispered behind him, leaving her in the flickering candlelight.

Susan lay staring somewhere past the canvas roof, her wound throbbing painfully beneath the bandage. Perhaps feeling neglected, her left arm pulsed in counterpoint, a dissonant rhythm that drummed through her scattered thoughts. When even breaths became a habit again, she reached for the cup left by Mathilde and drank it down, laying back to be washed in the Leopard's purrs.

Long after the Queen succumbed to the sedative, Swiftly continued to purr soothingly, pretending not to mind that her silent tears had soaked his fur.

--

They stayed in their forest camps for a week to begin their recovery. Two units made another venture to Castellan, returning with wagons to transport those too injured to walk or ride. The journey back would be much slower than the journey there.

And they buried their dead. Against Caspian and Ivylight's objections, Susan returned to the valley to help retrieve the bodies of their forces, and to lay to rest the memories of the Witch. The ice was melting quickly, flooding the valley behind their efforts. The deceased Telmarines they loaded carefully into wagons to be taken home to their families, but the Narnians they interred throughout the forest.

Susan chose a place for Mog she thought he would have liked, a small clearing with a laughing brook running through it. There was a mischievous squirrel who lived in the trees above it, pelting them with twigs and nut casings as they dug. She thought Mog would have liked that, too. Kneeling down next to the young Wolf, whose injury had been lovingly stitched closed, she pulled out her knife and carefully cut a short tuft of fur from behind one ear, where a chevron of black ran through the grey. Once she'd folded it into a handkerchief in her belt purse, they lowered his body down into the grave.

Narnians did not mark their graves, but Susan knew as they replaced the dark soil that she would always be able to find this clearing. The Mice, who had buried two of their number earlier in the morning, patted the dirt down to make a smooth curve. They pulled their rapiers in a sharp salute for a fallen friend and warrior.

The LanternWaste Pack had joined them with no explanation. When the last blade rang home into its sheath, Ygren threw his head back and howled. It was a sound of relentless sorrow and longing, of loneliness and despair. One by one, the Wolves joined in, the song gradually shifting to a tone of such genuine, heartrending joy that Susan couldn't breathe.

The last note died away, and Ygren turned to Susan. "My grandson's name will be sung and remembered with honor," he said quietly.

"I am grateful for his sake," she answered, spreading the sides of her skirted trousers in a small curtsey. "And for my own."

When the day came to leave, Susan painfully mounted Phillip, midsection flaring in protest. She wanted desperately not to ride in one of the wagons. Her bodice provided some assistance, despite the hole in the leather; it kept pressure on the bandage, easing back the throbbing pulses. She knew she wasn't fooling anyone, but they let her have her pride, even if they kept a sharp eye on her.

Aslan traveled with them, walking between Phillip and Destrier and eliciting no signs of fear from either horse. His presence gave heart to what was inclined to be a melancholy progress. Few other than Susan had ever spent much time around Him, and the awe He incited mingled with a gratefulness to be alive until the entire company's spirits rose.

The third morning, as they were preparing to set out, Susan sighed and scowled darkly at her stallion. The horse showed no sign of noticing, or caring if he did, contentedly tearing up tufts of sweet grass for his breakfast.

"You should not allow your pride to increase your injury, dear one."

She turned to smile at Aslan, automatically twining her fingers through his coarse mane. "I know," she admitted with another sigh. "I think I was about to concede defeat and find a place in one of the wagons."

"Ride with me today, dear one." He nuzzled her hand affectionately, and for a moment, she could see the Lion who had played pounce with her and Lucy out of the sheer exuberance of turning back Death. "You'll find I have missed you as much as you have missed me." He hunkered down and she laughed, straddling His back. He rose smoothly, without jarring her as mounting Phillip did.

Caspian's eyes widened at the sight of the queen riding the great Lion. "Comfortable?" he asked dryly.

Susan answered him a beaming smile. "Very!"

It was a much easier ride that day, and the days to follow. When she grew fatigued, as her healing wound was wont to make her, she draped comfortably over Aslan's neck, safely asleep as He continued His rolling, gentle gait.

Each night upon making camp, they immediately built roaring bonfires, tenderly transferring the baby phoenixes to the flames. They traveled during the day in cauldrons of hot ash, covered and wrapped in cloth to preserve as much heat as possible, but by nightfall, they were shivering and mewling piteously. Susan carefully tipped the infant Luckliter out of her ashes and into the heart of the flame.

She liked the phoenixes more now than she used to, or perhaps she was simply better able to appreciate them now. They lived for hundreds of years, gathering wisdom and experience, and then in a burst of flame were young and defenseless again, to repeat the cycle. She'd felt like that on their first return from Narnia, like she'd drowned in flame to be more humbly born, remembering everything from the life before.

Luckliter cheeped happily, sticking her bald, wrinkled head out of the fire. "Happy natal day, Queen Susan!"

"Ssh," whispered the young woman, placing a finger against the curved beak. "Though I thank you." After such a battle, and still traveling home- not to mention still injured- it seemed silly to celebrate her eighteenth birthday.

Again.

Finally they came within sight of Cair Paravel, its gleaming marble spires soaring majestically against a clear blue sky. No matter how often she saw it, it always took Susan's breath away as if it were the first time. Even as they watched, the white pennants came down to be replaced with the two flags that announced to all that the king was in residence: higher up, the gold Lion rampant on a scarlet field, and below it, the pewter starburst compass on a royal blue background; Narnia and Telmar represented in the same man.

Susan slid off Aslan's back before the entered the city, more conscious of His dignity than He was, and mounted Phillip for the first time in over a fortnight. The movement still caused pain, but not as much; that was her greatest indication that she was actually healing. She was impatient at the pace, but she knew- and Ivylight had frequently reminded her- that abdominal wounds took their own time in mending.

She was eyeing the column, trying to decide where to position herself, when Caspian gripped her elbow tightly.

"Do not even consider it," he warned her in a low tone. "You are a Queen of Narnia and a hero of battle, and you will enter the city as such."

She gave him a sour look. "That doesn't leave much room for argument."

"That was the idea."

Shaking her head, she nonetheless obeyed and rode at the head of the column, Aslan resuming His stance between them.

Now was the time for cheering, Susan reflected as they rose through the crowded streets. With their dead buried and the grief given time to moderate, with their physical pains healing, now was the time for the celebration they'd avoided before. She smiled and waved at the cheering crowds, trying not to remember another procession on the same streets.

How long had it been? She never really kept track of time in Narnia- like the way she'd always been surprised at the looming prospect of school at the end of summer. It had been late spring when she and Caspian returned their separate ways to Narnia; it was now mid-autumn. Had it really been half a year? She wondered again about her siblings; how much time had passed for them?

When they rode up the winding path to the castle, they found Trumpkin and Lahatiel awaiting them in the courtyard. The Regent's blue eyes flickered over the company, checking the state of everyone. When he noticed the empty place at Susan's side, he looked up at her.

She shook her head subtly, closing her eyes against his sympathy. They all dismounted, Caspian discreetly supporting her by the elbow when she swayed. The abrupt shift of weight upon landing sent pain stabbing through her midsection, and it took several deep breaths before she could stand straight again. "Go," she told the anxious king. "I'll be right behind you."

Caspian heartily shook hands with Trumpkin, preventing the dwarf from bowing. "Once again, my friend, you have kept our people well."

"So long as you're taking it back now," he answered gruffly, but Susan suspected he was very glad to see the man back safe. Few dwarves were ever comfortable with emotional scenes.

Lahatiel curtsied as Caspian lightly kissed her hand, as ethereally stunning as ever. "Your Majesty, it is good you are safely returned," she said quietly.

"I am glad you have been well in my absence."

Swiftly sneezed with laughter, muttering "Those two will have the most polite marriage in history."

Susan choked back an unladylike snort.

Stepping forward, the star's daughter sank down before the Lion, her pale skirts and hair pooling gracefully around her like liquid light in the afternoon sun. "Aslan," she said simply, her musical voice unexpectedly poignant. With a pang, Susan realized it was the first time she'd heard the woman sound truly happy.

"Rise, Daughter of Ramandu," he greeted, deep voice rolling through the open space.

To Susan's surprise, Lahatiel smiled and held a hand out to her. "Come, Queen Susan. Your bath should be nearly ready."

Susan couldn't help but laugh and accept the woman's hand, taking perverse delight in the flabbergasted expressions of Trumpkin and Caspian. Trusting Phillip to the grooms and her belongings to the footmen, the two women walked together through the halls to Susan's chambers in the Royal Wing.

Mercedes and Ofelia rushed forward to embrace their mistress as soon as she walked in, blushing at their audacity. Ofelia, always the more outspoken of the two, gave a cheeky grin. "We are so happy to see back safe and well, my Lady."

"It's good to be home," Susan agreed.

Lahatiel stayed with her as the maids helped her undress, all three hissing over her wounds and bruises. Susan sank into the steaming bath with a sensuous groan, feeling the heat seep through deep-set aches and pains. In addition to the subtle fragrance of white heather, she could sense something else in the water.

"Your salts?" she asked.

The blonde woman nodded, pulling a lavender silk nightgown from an armoire. "I did not know you were injured, but I thought they would ease the stiffness of travel."

"They're wonderful," she sighed.

Mercedes washed her back and hair, pinning the dark locks up so she could soak.

Lahatiel hummed under her breath as she kept the queen company, a wordless tune that somehow spoke to ocean waves and seagulls, to the graceful, soaring glide of the albatross, to winds that brought waves rolling against the shore.

Susan rolled her head to one side and watched her through half-closed eyes. "You miss your home, don't you?" she inquired softly.

"I confess I do," the woman answered, distant grey eyes studying her hands. "I have never been away from it before. I never thought to be away. My father always found my music soothing."

"If you had stayed, would you have returned to the sky with your father?"

"No." Lahatiel shook her head, a bittersweet smile twisting at her lips. "I am a star's daughter, but my place is not in the expanse of night; my mother was a shipwrecked Daughter of Eve." She glanced back to Susan and collected herself into her usual serenity. "Come; the water has cooled, and we do not want you to grow too stiff."

Susan dried off and dressed in the nightgown, belting a plum velvet dressing gown around her for warmth. Sitting on the thick carpet before the hearth, she accepted the cup of thick chocolate Ofelia gave her, happy to see Lahatiel offered a tea she clearly enjoyed.

Taking up a brush, Lahatiel unpinned the queen's damp hair and started brushing it. Patiently, gently attending to each snarl, she worked it through in long, firm strokes that sent the younger woman into a sleep relaxation. "I read somewhere that your hair was once as long as mine," she said after a time.

"Yes, it was," murmured her companion. "Though I'll let it get a little longer, I don't believe I'll let it get quite that long again. I'm a bit too active for it this time round."

"It must have been lovely."

Susan stared into the flames dancing in the hearth, seeing Luckliter's spiraling dive at the castle of black ice. The brush continued its progress long after all the knots were vanquished. Her voice emerged soft and pensive. "You know, sometimes I almost wish I could hate you."

The elegant hands stilled, then resumed. "Sometimes, I almost wish you could, too," she agreed quietly. "It would be easier on us both, I think."


	13. Chapter 12: In Another's Place

**ehDisclaimer: I only wish I owned it. Alas, I do not, and thus make do with the snippets available to me.**

_A/N: I'm sorry for the delay, folks, but this chapter was surprisingly difficult to write; the phrasing proved elusive. Combined with work and sinus problems, it meant taking some extra time. And, as always, please leave me a review! They really do make me quite giddy, and with it being so rainy and icky round here, I could use the pick-me-ups._

** Chapter Twelve**

** In Another's Place**

Nursing a glass of wine, Caspian leaned against the railing of his balcony, watching the sun set into the plain. The long grasses rippled in waves of amber and gold; though he faced away from the ocean, the motion was the same, and just as comforting. The sky flamed in streaks of vermillion and orange, softly tinted clouds of lavender and rose bleeding into the deepening night.

He knew he should go in, should finish dressing for the ball, but his feet remained still. His dark eyes stared moodily over the expanse, watching the wind ripple south into the forests.

In the two weeks and six days since his return to Cair Paravel, he hadn't once managed to get Susan alone. She was never seen without Lahatiel at her side, which he might have thought excessively odd if he hadn't noticed the genuine enjoyment the women found in each other's company. He rarely saw them conversing, but they didn't seem to need to.

Enlisting Trumpkin's aid, he'd commissioned a simple gold bracelet for the queen, a small oval locket dangling from a link by the clasp. Inside the locket was not a sketch or miniature, but rather a cleverly wrought catch where someone might keep a twist or tuft of hair. Or fur. He'd asked the dwarf to give it to her with no mention of his name, and Trumpkin's blushing growl afterwards told him all he needed to know about her reaction. He hadn't seen her wrist without it since.

He was running out of time. The ladies of Court, forging ahead without Lahatiel's interest or assistance, were planning a midwinter wedding. Caspian had done some discreet research, learning that the only honorable way he could break the betrothal was if the woman was publicly caught being unfaithful.

That certainly wasn't going to happen.

He had so little time left before his wedding, a wedding he didn't want; he wanted to see Susan as much as possible before then, whether it was right or not. But he'd only seen her at meals, and frequently not even then.

Perhaps it was for the best. He'd already learned that his self-control was not what it should be. What had happened in the woods of Castellan, in the heat of battle…if word had gotten, it would have been forgivable. Emotions ran hot in such times. But in peace, under the same roof as his betrothed?

And he didn't want to hurt Susan. He'd heard her tears after he walked away in the woods; he never wanted to hear her cry again, not when each sob tore at his soul.

Emptying the glass, he walked back into his chambers and set it on the sideboard, continuing on into his dressing room. They were finally holding the victory celebration; physical wounds had mostly healed. Ivylight had assured him that Queen Susan would be more than up to the evening.

Inigo, his personal servant, stood when he entered but Caspian waved him off. He was more than capable of dressing himself, even if it was for a ball. Over the brilliant scarlet blouse, he pulled a deep necked, skirted tunic, white and gold brocade with gold trim. Wide black trousers fell over polished black boots, and he belted Rhindon about his hips with the ease of long familiarity. He left the crown in its locked case; he didn't need it to be recognized as king. On his left index finger, he slid a plain gold band with a starburst compass inscribed onto the crest. It was the one thing he could distinctly remember as being his father's.

Inigo coughed when he emerged. "Your hair, my Lord?"

Caspian glanced at the mirror, ruefully admitting it was probably a little too windswept. He gave it a quick, ruthless brushing, letting it fall back around his face. "Better?"

"Yes, my Lord." The thin, balding man twitched the king's clothes to make them fall more elegantly, brushing imaginary dust from the shoulders and fluffing the blouse to show more clearly through the slashes in the sleeves of the tunic. "Much better."

Caspian rolled his eyes, careful not to let Inigo see. Though the nobles they served outranked them, nearly every servant seemed to privately consider them mostly incompetent.

With his appearance approved by his valet, Caspian left his rooms, forcing himself to walk past Susan's door without pausing. He left the Royal Wing and knocked on the door to Lahatiel's guest chambers.

"Who is it?" she called quietly, her musical voice muffled by the wood.

"Your escort, my Lady."

It was several minutes before she came to the door, but the sight of her took his breath away. Her white-blonde hair was down as always, but caught back away from her face with diamond-studded combs to show her delicate, finely drawn features. She wore, for the first time, a Narnian gown in an icy silver-blue satin, modified to allow certain comforts of her customary robes, such as the overlong sleeves that hid her hands, and a higher neckline. A pale blue diamond teardrop nestled in the hollow of her throat.

She didn't smile as she curtsied, but she let him tuck her hand into the crook of his elbow. They walked through the halls in silence.

It occurred to him that if he was going to spend the rest of his life with this woman, he should probably learn how to talk to her. He cleared his throat uncertainly. "You look lovely."

"Thank you."

Well, so much for that. It was actually a relief to come upon Trumpkin and Doctor Cornelius outside the royal entrance to the Great Hall. Lahatiel beat him to the first question that came to mind.

"Where is Queen Susan?"

Doctor Cornelius chuckled into his beard. "She wanted to visit with Lady Sushonna before she was put to bed."

"Lady Sushonna?" Caspian echoed with a frown.

"The daughter of Lord Giorgio and Lady Drazina."

In the uncomfortable silence that followed, they could hear the dull roar of conversation from within the hall. Trumpkin coughed. "Shall we?"

The quartet entered to a fanfare, the assembly bending into bows and curtsies to honor their king. Lahatiel watched them with a troubled expression, barely discernable beneath her usual serenity. When Caspian bowed to her and held out his hand, she almost considered telling him she still hadn't learned to dance. But, the ladies of Court had patiently devoted hours and hours over the summer to teaching her, and she didn't want to disappoint them.

As they moved into the waltz, Caspian sighed. She stood stiffly in his arms, eyes unfocused somewhere beyond his shoulder. She knew the steps well enough, and performed them with her habitual grace, but he could see she took no pleasure in it.

Both were grateful when the song was over and they could escape with dignity to the dais.

A sharp spike in volume by the main doors caught their attention and they turned to see Susan entering on the arm of Captain- now Colonel- Alafair. Caspian smothered an irrational surge of jealousy, one hand pressed unconsciously against his chest.

Trumpkin kicked his ankle none-too-lightly-, throwing in a scowl for good measure.

Caspian ignored him, eyes still locked on Susan. She was gowned in a brilliant royal blue that swept low across pale shoulders, the loose bell sleeves brushing her fingertips, a bit longer than usual. Every curve was defined by the clinging fabric and corset, flaring out into full skirts. A high, wide slit up her right side revealed underskirts of ice blue semi-sheer silk, layered to opacity. A gold belt sat low on her hips, the flowery vines and leaves matching the delicate crown nestled in her dark curls. Her hair was mostly loose under the crown, falling to her waist, but for one thin section behind one ear in which a crimson and gold phoenix feather had been braided.

Watching her cross the room, Caspian could almost understand why the Calormens had always called her the Barbarian Queen. There was something almost savage about her beauty, gentle as it was- a boundless passion that wasn't afraid to spark into violence with the need to defend. She was the avenging, unattainable goddess no man could ever tame, and the love he could never honorably have.

She swept him a deep curtsey, the antique silver key on its thin gold chain dangling temptingly above the hollow of her breasts. He blinked and tore his eyes away, sternly telling himself not to blush.

Trumpkin glanced between Lahatiel and Susan, noting what the staggered king had failed to observe: the two women had clearly collaborated on their apparel for the evening. Though the queen had used the ice blue as an accent and not as her main theme, it was unmistakably the same color, and they had modified the same pattern to their personal tastes. He raised his eyebrows at Susan, who caught his expression and shook her head.

"If you haven't planned this, I'm a monkey's uncle," he muttered when she leaned down to kiss his cheek.

She sighed, but there was a resigned smile there, as well. "No one's all that sure of her yet," she explained quietly. "I thought if I publicly showed my support for her, it would help."

"Should've named you Susan the Selfless."

"I'm not selfless, Trumpkin. If I were selfless, I would never have come back." She turned to Lahatiel, her smile growing. "You look lovely."

"As do you," the star's daughter replied, reaching out to lightly touch the phoenix feather. "You will dance tonight, yes?"

"I intend to." Susan's sapphire eyes sparkled at her friend. "And don't forget, you promised to join us in the one I taught you."

"What is this?" Caspian asked warily.

"You will see," they answered together.

Cornelius beamed at the queen, adjusting his pince-nez. "Your Majesty, will you honor this old man with a dance?"

"What old man?" she twitted, laughing at his affected shock. "Gladly, Professor."

Caspian couldn't help but watch Susan's progress, much as he had at an earlier ball. After the Doctor, she danced with the respectful Alafair, then with the blushing and stumbling Matthias, then with Lord Giorgio, then with Trumpkin, and then a visiting Tarkhaan. He almost laughed when he realized she was barefoot; it was another sign of how purely Narnian she was, no matter her birth.

Susan was breathless when she came to hold Lahatiel to her word, her cheeks flushed. "Are you ready?"

Lahatiel hesitated, then slowly smiled. "Yes, alright."

Taking her hand, Susan led the woman onto the floor, joining the growing circle of female dwarves and Telmarine girls. The fauns started up a spritely tune and the circle began moving in a dance that was ancient even in the Golden Age, a celebration by the women of the successful harvests. Nervous as she was, Lahatiel soon fell into the comfortable atmosphere of the dancers. They'd practiced this over the past week, another part of Susan's campaign to weave her into her new nation. She was actually laughing by the end of it, a soft, shimmering fall of sound that enchanted those few close enough to hear it.

When the song was done, Lahatiel thanked each dancer, receiving bright smiles in return. The two women returned to the dais, where Caspian handed them each a glass; for Susan, it was a sparkling white wine; for Lahatiel, who disliked spirits, it was spiced apple juice.

"That was beautifully done, dear ones." They turned and curtsied to Aslan as He padded up to them, others giving Him a wide berth. His golden eyes looked to the dark-haired woman, tail twitching lazily. "Walk me, Queen Susan, and let us speak."

Tangling her fingers in His mane, she walked beside Him out of the Hall through to the gardens. The silence continued for a time, heady and comfortable and familiar. They strolled into the apple groves, stopping at the low wall overlooking the ocean.

"Is that why You let me come back?" she asked finally. "Because of the possibility of the White Witch?"

"It was one reason," He agreed, "the biggest being simply that you asked. There was no doubt of your conviction, dear one. Perhaps it was wrong to make you leave."

"Wrong? Aslan, You're never wrong."

He nuzzled her hand. "Then perhaps I simply did not look deep enough."

She idly stroked His thick fur, feeling His purr tremble in her bones. "I think it was important to leave," she said quietly, staring out over the water. "If we'd stayed, I would have distanced myself, tried to rationalize the attraction. It was leaving that forced me to admit it to myself. It was missing him that made me realize how much he meant."

"Meant?"

"Means," she allowed, her voice low with pain. "Still. I'm not sorry to have come back. You told me things wouldn't be as I expected, but I've learned so much about myself, some good, some bad. I feel like who I am now is truer than anything I've been in the past. I'm grateful for that knowledge. I'm grateful to be home."

"I am very proud of you, Susan. You have shown great strength and faith in these difficult months."

She blushed and sipped her wine. "I haven't felt strong," she confessed. Her eyes followed an albatross wheeling over the dark waves, its long wings locked in an effortless glide. She remembered Lucy telling them of the albatross that had led the _Dawn Treader_ through the impenetrable darkness. "Aslan, how are my siblings? And Professor Kirke?"

"Missing you," He answered simply. "But they know you to be well; they occasionally see you in their dreams."

"Oh, dear."

He gave a deep, rumbling laugh. "Small things only," He assured her. "Public things that they would see were they here. Your privacy is intact."

"And my shame." Susan heard movement in the orchard behind them and knew without looking that it was Caspian. Time to change the subject, then. "Aslan, why did You come at the end?"

He looked up at her as the king silently joined them. "You explained to others why I could not be there in the beginning."

"No, I understand that but, but…why come? Why come when it was over?"

Aslan gently pressed his muzzle against her midsection which, though mostly healed, was still tender as the scabs flaked away to an angry red scar. "Every father hates to see his children suffer," he told her quietly, voice filled with an endless, inhuman love, "but sometimes it is necessary, either because he lacks the power to prevent it, or because it is something they must endure. But nothing will keep him from helping them heal after."

"I'm awfully glad," she whispered, and He chuckled.

"This is farewell for now, dear one."

"You're leaving?"

"I always return."

She smiled and nodded, kissing his nose. "Yes, You do."

Aslan looked at Caspian, who bowed deeply. "Son of Adam." With that, the Lion turned and padded off into the night.

Susan didn't watch after Him, knowing she wouldn't actually see Him leave. Instead, she drained her glass and looked back out to sea. "What are you doing out here, Caspian?"

He stood beside her, resting his hands atop the wall. "The ball is near to ending; I was hoping to share a dance with you before it does."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"No, but I would like to do it nonetheless."

She accepted his proffered arm, her bare feet crushing the dew-soaked grass as he led her back into the castle. "Lahatiel looks lovely tonight."

"She always does."

Strange, how hearing that caused no pain.

"Trumpkin says you are preparing to leave."

"Not immediately, but soon. The lodge in LanternWaste will be done before too long." Actually, Trumpkin had told her two days before that the restoration was complete, but some part of her didn't want Caspian to know that. "I'd like to get settled before the snows."

"Do you have to go?"

She gave him a sideways look, heart pounding at the wistfulness she saw. She grimaced. "You cannot ask me to remain after the wedding, Caspian; that would be cruel."

They entered the Great Hall and he handed her glass to a servant, immediately spinning her into the dance. His dark eyes locked on hers, he held her close, his hand splayed possessively against the small of her back. They moved gracefully together, fluidly weaving through the other couples.

One by one, the dancing pairs faded to the sides to watch the king and queen, New Narnia and Old Narnia, brilliant sparks of color against the white marble floor. Lahatiel smiled slightly, her hands clasped within her sleeves, seeing the unconscious way their bodies spoke to each other. When he gently pushed her into a twirl, Susan didn't have to look for his hand; she simply held hers out and there his was.

Caspian and Susan stared at each other when the last notes of the song died. Finally, he brought her hand to his lips. "But I will miss you."

She looked away and curtsied. "That can't be helped."

--

After sharing the final dance of the evening with Caper, Susan bade good-night and retreated to her rooms. It was well after midnight, and while she was tired, she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep just yet. She'd dismissed Mercedes and Ofelia before leaving for the ball, figuring there was no need for them to wait up. With some undignified squirming, she could get out of the gown on her own; it was getting into it alone that was impossible.

From where he lay curled up in the center of her bed, Swiftly opened one eye, his tail twitching once against the coverlet. "Did you behave?"

"Haven't I been behaving?"

"You've also been avoiding him; you couldn't do that tonight."

She draped herself across the bed to stroke his fur, hiding a grin at his automatic purr. For all his cynicism, he was as bad as a housecat at time. "I behaved," she told him dryly. "I only danced with him once, and I didn't moon after him all night."

"Did he behave?"

"Honestly? I was trying very hard not to look at him enough to notice."

The Leopard sneezed with laughed, opening both eyes and stretching languidly. "Good cub."

Susan rolled over onto her side, still petting the Animal. "It was almost strange not to have to warn Mog away from drooling on my gown."

"One the many inconveniences you'll be spared," he growled. "No more inappropriate actions, or impertinent questions. No more tail wagging or whining or begging for food from the table. No more ridiculous and pointless comments."

"So in other words, you miss him too."

Swiftly sighed and laid his head on her arm. "Yes, Cub, I miss him too."

"Queen Susan?"

Human and Leopard both turned to the open doorway to see Lahatiel standing there. Like Susan, she was still dressed from the ball, though she'd added a high necked, sleeveless surcoat for warmth and modesty. Susan sat up and curled her feet under her. It wasn't precisely comfortable, with the corset keeping her back rigidly straight, but she could lean against the bedpost without too much trouble. "Lahatiel, is something wrong?"

"No, I simply wished to speak with you, if the hour is not too late."

Susan gave her a crooked smile and patted the gold and blue coverlet. "Come and sit. I never could sleep after a ball, for some reason."

"What did you usually do afterwards?"

"Sometimes, Lucy and I would raid the kitchens for strawberries," she answered fondly. "Or we'd sit on the roof of one of the towers and stargaze. And then, sometimes, we'd run down to the shore still in our fancy dresses to watch the sun rise over the water." She watched the star's daughter perch gracefully on the edge of the bed, her hands folding gracefully into her lap. "But that isn't what you came to ask me."

"I did not actually come to ask you anything." Cool grey eyes studied the ancient queen, a small smile floating through them. I came to say goodbye."

"Goodbye?" Susan echoed incredulously. She knew she must look like an idiot, staring open-mouthed as she was, but she couldn't possibly have heard that right.

But Lahatiel merely nodded. "You are the first person I have told," she said quietly. "I will be telling his Majesty tomorrow so he may arrange my passage home."

"But why?"

"Because I stand in another's place. Because I do not belong here. For so very many reasons, I do not belong here, and I want to go home." Shaking her hair out of her face, she leaned forward and laid her hand over 

Susan's. "I could try to say that I am being selfless, and perhaps in some small measure I am. You love him. You love him enough to have left your family for him, to have nearly died for him. You love him enough to let him go. I do not. As husband and wife to the end of our days, we would never share a fraction of the emotion that already exists between you; he and I cannot even hold a conversation.

"And it is not just as a wife I must scrutinize myself, but as a queen. I care nothing for these people." She spread her hands regretfully, but Susan could hear the sad truth in her musical voice. "Their concerns are not mine, nor will they ever bring them to me to share. I will never feel compelled to arms to defend them, nor find joy in their triumphs. I was raised apart from the affairs of Men and Beasts; I have no passion for them. As a queen, you are the best possible blessing these people could receive, especially when paired with a king so newly crowned. You fight or them, you worry for them, you celebrate with them, you know them. I would be at best indifferent.

"But let me be honest, because it is you and because I owe you at least that much: I want to go home. I wasn't to return to my island and the easy company of my father for as long as he remains. I want to return to my solitude and my music, to where there are no expectations of me." She bowed her head, fingers fidgeting with the inside of her sleeves. "I accepted his Majesty's offer because I thought my father wanted it of me, because I knew he was concerned for what would become of me when he returns to the sky. And because I knew his Majesty offered not from love, but of duty. Duty I thought I understood, but I know now I have no comprehension of it, or rather, just enough to know that I do not want it.

"I am not as selfless as you, Queen Susan; unlike you, I have no reason to be. So I will do what you cannot, what he cannot, and I will break the engagement and return home." She smiled slightly, hiding behind a shimmering fall of hair. "You said once you have faith that things will turn out as they are meant to be; so do I. And I believe this is how things are meant to be. I will miss you, but I believe too that we will meet again at the end of all things, when all those who follow the Lion are reunited in His lands."

In the long silence that followed, Susan's hand rose unconsciously to curl round the key at her throat. "You know," she remarked after a time, "I think that's the most I've ever heard you speak at once."

Lahatiel gave a startled laugh, and Susan knew she would miss the pure beauty of that sound. She also knew she wouldn't try to dissuade her from her choice.

"Keep in mind, I'm only calm because this isn't sinking in yet," she continued conversationally. "But, why are you telling me this?"

"It would not have been kind to surprise you with it," answered the star's daughter, "and I wanted you to understand my reasons. Too, I know you: you require time to think things through. This at least will give you a head start to wherever it is you go."

Susan couldn't help but laugh at that, and even Swiftly huffed his amusement. "I do tend to run away, don't I?"

"Space and peace are aides to the mind," Lahatiel returned gravely. "The important thing is that you return."

"When will you go?"

"As soon as I can; I will take the journey in stages, if I must."

Taking Lahatiel's hand, Susan squeezed it gently. "Perhaps I should say thank you, but I think it would demean your strength. Beside, you're not really doing this for me."

"No, not really. Though I am glad you benefit by it, I am not really doing this for you. Honor and expectation and duty trapped all three of us in what would most likely have been long, miserable lives; that is not a prospect I am strong enough to endure. Although," she added, a spark of mischief dancing in her eyes, "I confess to anticipating, most cruelly, his expression when he is told you have left the castle."

Susan snorted indelicately.

Rising fluidly to her feet, Lahatiel pressed a soft kiss against the queen's brow. "May every possible blessing be with you, sister of my heart," she murmured. "This is not goodbye, but farewell, until we meet again at the end of all things."

"Farewell, Lahatiel. A safe and swift journey be yours, and know my thoughts will keep you company in your solitude." She watched the sunning blonde woman until she passed out of sight, hearing the outermost door close with a small click. "That was…unexpected."

"You humans complicate everything," Swiftly noted, slinking to the floor. "We're going then?"

She blinked at him, then nodded, rolling off the bed. "Yes," she said decisively, tugging at the laces at the back of her gown. "I'll need time to think, and so will Caspian. He was willing to cross the lines, but not so willing to push them. He needs to make very sure that I'm what he wants, because once I have him, I'll never let him go."

"Again, complicated. Animals are much more sensible."

"We're not all so fortunate as to be born with a tail, Swiftly. Will you please gather up the Mice?"

"Are you going to tell anyone?"

She squirmed out of the gown and grinned, tossing the crown on the bed. "I'll leave a note for Trumpkin."

"Oh, he'll be thrilled."

"Who, Trumpkin? Or Caspian?"

"Yes."

Laughing, Susan quickly changed into clothing more suitable for travel, throwing more into her pack. The How was too obvious, but the lodge…he knew where it was, but not that it was finished. She could raid the kitchens for some foodstuffs, and there was a town only a few hours' ride from the lodge where she could acquire more supplies. If she took Phillip, they could get there in two, maybe three days, and she knew Ygren's Pack would provide protection within the woods.

There was a certain thrill to sneaking off, she realized, even when your intent wasn't mischievous or malicious. As she dipped a quill into an inkwell to draft the note for Trumpkin- which she was sure would leave him swearing and chuckling- she could almost forgive Edmund for having snuck off so frequently in the past.

Almost. She wasn't ready to be quite _that_ reasonable, yet.

She sealed and addressed the letter, laying it on the small salver by her door where the maids would see it in the morning. The Mice said nothing when she joined them in the hall, though she could hear a few muffled titters.

Susan paused outside Caspian's door, standing beside the dozing guard. "You'd better be willing to come find me, boyo," she whispered. "I came to Narnia; come meet me halfway now that you'll be free to do so."

An hour later, a lone horse raced into the long grasses east of Cair Paravel with a Leopard keeping pace at his side, bearing on his back the Queen of Narnia and her guard.

--

Susan looked up from her book at the sound of hoof beats coming closer to the lodge, glancing over to Swiftly. "Messenger, do you think?"

Stretched before the fire, the Leopard didn't even open his eyes. "Whatever it is, there's only one." They listened in silence for a moment. "And it's going into the stables."

"Probably not a messenger, then." She closed the book and set it on the side table, rising from the divan. Leaning over Swiftly, she swung the kettle of water on its hook over the flames.

"It took him long enough."

"We don't know exactly when she left, either," she felt obliged to point out.

"Ridiculously complicated."

Ripeeku dashed into the room via the small door the dwarves had installed into each larger door. They reminded Susan a little of Alice's looking-glass adventures. The albino Mouse sat back on his haunches, whiskers twitching madly. "It is his Majesty," he reported. "Shall we send him away?"

"No, Ripeeku, leave him be." But she smiled at the thought. That the Mice could do it she had no doubt; that Caspian would be mightily offended she was equally sure. "It's what we've been waiting for, after all."

Swiftly yawned and stretched, herding Ripeeku back towards the door. "Come, friend, let us away."

Shaking her head, Susan tried to keep herself from fidgeting with her clothing. She hadn't known when- or even if- to expect him, and she'd fallen over the fortnight into a haze of comfort. Her skirt fell over bare feet and her loose blouse was entirely unconfined by a bodice. Her hair cascaded down her back in dark curls but for the thin braid clutching Luckliter's feather.

The lodge was finished, and mostly furnished, but still lacking in the luxuries it would eventually boast. Trumpkin's rather grandiose plans included several servants to make use of what would be a grandly supplied kitchen; for now, she had to make do with her own paltry efforts with half a set of dented, mismatched materials she'd purchased off a soused tinker on the way. A stew was bubbling- had been bubbling all day- in the kitchen fire, while she'd been lazing in the main room with a book. It wasn't fit for a king…she smiled ruefully. If it wasn't fit for a king, it wasn't fit for a queen, either, yet there they both were.

After seeing Destrier comfortably settle in the stable, Caspian walked across the small yard to the lodge, his boots crunching on the brittle leaves. It was the dry part of autumn, the dead times; the crimsons, pumpkins, and golds faded to brown and fallen, the crisp air not yet given way to the moist promise of snow. He nervously straightened his tunic, running a hand over his windswept hair.

Swiftly watched him approach, pawing open the main door. "Try not to muck it up this time," he advised laconically, stalking away without waiting for reply.

Caspian stared after him. He might reign as king of Narnia for eighty years or more, but he would never understand the perverse nature of Cats. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door.

"Enter!"

He pushed open the door and closed it gently behind him. Hanging his cloak on a peg in the entryway, he walked through the small hall and into the large central room. His breath didn't catch when he saw her seated on the floor before the fire. No, her beauty was too soft, too perfectly natural, to be shocking.

Standing only a feet feet away from her, Caspian drank in the sight of her, the pale skin flushed by the heat of the flames, the calloused hands knotted anxiously together in her lap. "Are you going to run away from me again?" he asked finally.

"Are you asking for a promise?"

"A temporary assurance would suffice." He sat down on the floor at her side, purposefully sitting atop her skirt so she couldn't get away. She gave him a dry look, which he returned. "Do you realize I had to bribe a dwarf to find out the lodge was actually finished?"

"Why didn't you just ask Trumpkin?"

He had to fight the urge to scowl. "I did not think he would tell me."

"He would've."

"You sound very sure."

A fleeting smile passed over his face. "I told him to, if you asked, but only after Lahatiel was on her way." The smile faltered and she glanced quickly away. "Ah, she is, yes? Safely on her way?"

"She left with Captain Drinian nearly a week ago," he answered gravely. "They sailed out aboard the _Dawn Treader_, and will winter in Bernstead."

"The water isn't ready yet for tea, but there's wine or ale if you'd like me to-"

Caspian reached out and cupped her chin in palm, gently forcing her eyes to his. "Why did you go away?"

Feeling an irrational surge of panic, Susan tried to tug her skirt out from under him. And failed. "I needed time to come to terms with it," she mumbled. "I thought you would, as well."

He wouldn't let her look away. "I have thought," he said quietly. "I have thought a great deal about what it means, and what it could mean."

"And what did you decide?" she asked, hardly daring to breathe.

His fingers slid down her throat to rest against the slender gold chain, tracing over the ornate handle of the key. His voice, with the soft accent she'd fallen in love with, emerged deep and contemplative. "I realized I was a fool for not talking to Lahatiel. If either of us had just spoken to the other earlier, how different might things have been? I realized I was an idiot for not fighting for you. I do not know an honorable way I could have done so, but I should have anyway. I should not have let a single moment pass in doubt of my feelings for you. I should have had faith, like you did, in that love, and in Aslan. I realized again that I am not worthy of you, but I am no longer letting that hold me back."

He shifted position, freeing her skirt but pulling her into his lap so he could caress her face. "I let you go far too easily," he whispered, inhaling the unique scent of her. "That is not a mistake I intend to make twice. I am not letting you go, Susan Pevensie." His lips hovered just a breath away from hers, and she could feel his eyelashes brush against her cheek as he blushed. "Not when I love you this much."

She closed the distance between them, their lips moving slowly against each other. Languidly, tenderly, they explored each new sensation; when he nibbled her lower lip, she opened beneath him, and he wove his hands tightly into her dark curls. She was drowning in him but now, finally, there was no reason not to.

Without breaking the kiss, Caspian leaned her back against the floor, holding himself above her. Still tender, but darker somehow, more possessive and thrilling. She would have given him anything at that moment, without hesitation, and it was with supreme effort that he forced himself to pull away.

But not that far away. He propped himself up on one elbow so he could still trace her flushed cheeks and swollen lips.

She blinked up at him dazedly, and it took a breathless moment or three to find her voice. "Good boys shouldn't know how to do that."

He grinned and brushed a strand of hair back from her forehead. "I never said I was a good boy." And he proceeded to prove it by kissing her again, leaving her trembling and in pressing need of air.

He buried his face in her hair, breath whispering against the curve of her ear. "Marry me," he murmured, lips pressing wherever his words fell. "Susan, marry me, stay with me. Be my love, my wife, my queen, my reason to be, forever and always. I want to spend eternity with you. I want to spend my days learning from you, laughing with you, ruling with you. I want to spend my nights memorizing every inch of you, every sound and expression you make, to indulge every passion we can imagine." He captured her mouth in a moment of searing heat, continuing to the other side of her neck with his words and his butterfly kisses. "I want to hold you while you sleep, watch your face change as you dream. I want to watch you grow round with child, to feel life growing within you. I want to watch you playing with our children, teaching our daughters archery and our sons to dance with the fauns. I want to rule at your side, together bringing Narnia into a new Golden Age. I want to grow old with you, to see a grey-haired grandmother and still so astonishingly beautiful. And when the last spark of life has left our bodies, I want to find you again in Aslan's Country and know we will be together far beyond the end of all things. Marry me, Susan, tell me-"

"You realize you have to shut up in order for me to answer, yes?" she interrupted breathlessly, and he gave a soft, smoldering smile that tied her stomach in knots.

"And what is your answer?"

"Yes, of course, you silly man." And she pulled his head back down to hers.

Peepiceek turned away from the window, whiskers twitching faintly in disapproval. "Should we stop them?"

The Leopard sprawled under the sill, eyes tracking a sparrow as it hopped across the leaf-strewn ground. "Only if it gets out of hand," he replied lazily, muscles bunching under his fur as he deliberated pouncing. "They're betrothed now; they can misbehave within certain boundaries."

"Are all Children of Adam and Eve so complicated?"

Swiftly sneezed with laughter.


	14. Chapter 13: The Waking Dream

**Disclaimer: Still not mine. Sigh. Though I rather think at this point its proper owners are spinning.**

_A/N1: You'd think after all the weddings I've gone to in the past couple of years, they'd be easier to write! So, this is the final chapter- tear, sniff- but there WILL be an epilogue coming soon, so no fear on that score. So you're not out of reviewing yet! Leave reviews, feed the muse, and tell me what you think._

_A/N2: There are two direct steals in this chapter, one from a book, and one from a movie. Can anyone tell me what they are?_

** Chapter Thirteen**

** The Waking Dream**

Shouldn't he have been able to see more of her now that they were betrothed?

Tiptoeing past the sleeping guard- why was he even out there if he dozed off as often as not?- Caspian made his way out of the Royal Wing. It was nearly midnight, and he should have been sleeping. A man should be sleeping on the night before his wedding.

But sleep eluded him tonight, as it so often did, and he wandered through the castle in trousers and nightshirt. He'd had only stolen moments with Susan, a few minutes here and there, perhaps a whole half hour on the lucky days. He'd thought they'd have more than that.

He'd misunderstood the female attachment to weddings. Because he'd been concerned with war, and Lahatiel so little concerned with the ceremony, he'd had no comprehension of how much was actually involved in the process. The ladies of Court had accepted the change in brides very happily, promptly kidnapping Susan to besiege her with every detail, no matter how miniscule.

Apparently there was a lot of work to pulling off a state wedding in a short period of time.

So he and Susan had had only stolen moments and hurried kisses nearly since his proposal. It was enough to drive a man mad.

His steps led him, as they often did, to the Great Hall and its five thrones. But this time, he was not alone in his contemplation.

Susan sat curled in her white marble throne, a plum velvet dressing robe covering her silk nightgown. The fabric spilled over the edge of the seat in a dark fall to pool on the floor. Her hair was braided for sleep, and its neat appearance led him to believe that- unlike him- she hadn't even attempted to take to bed.

"Beloved?"

She turned to see him, her pale face glowing in the streams of moonlight from the glass roof. A small smile touched her lips. "Caspian, shouldn't you be in bed?"

"Just as you should be," he agreed mildly, coming up to press a kiss to her forehead. "What are you doing here?"

Sighing, she rested her head against the back of the throne. "I wish they were here," she said quietly, letting him lace his fingers through hers as he knelt beside her. "I didn't get to say goodbye to them, there wasn't time. All those weddings that didn't happen when we were older, and I always thought they'd be around for the one that really did."

"You know they would be here if they could."

"I know. I just wish they were."

"They are." He smoothed a wisp of hair back behind her ear, letting his hand stroke down along her skin to rest against her heart. "They are here, Beloved, whether you can see them or no."

Smiling, Susan brought his hand to her lips, softly kissing his palm. "I suppose."

He hated seeing that wistful, resigned look on her face; it was a look he'd seen all too often since her return to Narnia. Caspian got to his feet and tugged her out of the throne. "Come with me."

"Where?" she laughed. "It's the middle of the night."

"To the kitchens." He leaned close to whisper in her ear, and couldn't help kissing the soft skin behind it. "I heard rumor that one of the gardeners has succeeded in forcing strawberries out of season."

"Strawberries?"

"Fresh strawberries,"

She grabbed his arm and ran to the side door, both of them laughing like children escaping bath time. They raced down to the kitchens and he won by several yards, claiming a kiss as a reward. Touching her, whether it was kissing her, holding her, or just brushing against her, made him feel complete.

"Now, where did they end up?" he muttered, rooting through the many bowls in the sunken pantry. Set deep within the cliff and lined in stone, it was always the coolest place in Cair Paravel, and kept foods fresh even through the heat of summer. Of course now, in midwinter, it wasn't nearly so difficult. "Ah!" He proudly produced the heaping bowl of bursting red berries, setting it on one of the small preparation tables.

Susan found two empty finger bowls and filled one with sugar and the other with thick cream.

"Why do you do that?"

"Because it is the only proper way to eat strawberries." Selecting one of the berries, she twirled it in the cream and sugar, holding it out to him.

Caspian dutifully bit into it, making a face as he chewed. "That is disgustingly sweet." He licked a bead of sugared cream off one of her fingers. "That, however, is just perfect."

She laughed and flicked the stem at him. "You have no appreciation for the finer things in life."

"I love you, do I not?"

They pillaged the bowl of strawberries until neither could even look at another. They didn't mention the wedding, less than twelve hours away. They didn't mention that neither of them would have blood family present for such a momentous event. There would be family, sure enough, but it was family forged of faith and fire, not of 

birth. They didn't mention the battles behind them; not of the wars with Miraz and Jadis; not of the dark separation that had existed until so recently.

Instead, they laughed and joked over little things. The healer Mathilde had taken a long, considering look at Trumpkin and declared him- loudly declared him- 'one fine piece of dwarf flesh'. She was as direct in her attentions as she was in everything else, and the badly shaken Regent had taken to hiding in Caspian's office. He'd tried Susan's study at first, but Mathilde was prone to showing up without warning.

They talked about Ivylight and Suncloud, who were expecting their first foal in midsummer. Suncloud had been furious that his wife had ridden to battle knowing she had conceived- and more to the point hadn't told him- but she'd ignored him, not even bothering to point out that she'd never gone near any fighting. Once he'd calmed down somewhat, he'd become overwhelmingly solicitous. Ivylight had finally followed Lady Drazina's laughing advice and invented absurd cravings for him to satisfy, getting him out of her hair for several hours at a time. Glenstorm watched both of them with thinly veiled amusement.

When Susan could no longer hide her increasing flurry of yawns behind her hand, they rose and cleaned the evidence of their thievery. They walked hand in hand back to the Royal Wing, enjoying the quality of silence that only such closeness could bring. Caspian no longer wondered at the wordless companionship Susan and Lahatiel had shared; he understood it better now.

They stopped outside her door and he simply held her close, marveling at the feeling of her in his arms. He hoped he never stopped marveling at it, that he never took her for granted.

"I have something for you," she murmured, rubbing her nose in the gap between two buttons of his nightshirt.

"Stop that," he told her with a startled chuckle. "I cannot think when you do that."

"You think too much."

"That is rich, coming from you." He tipped her face up to his and kissed her nose. "You said you had something?"

Some of the playfulness left her eyes; even so close as they were, it was difficult to read her expression. Reaching up, she fumbled with the clasp of her thin gold chain, moving to fasten it round his neck. "This is yours now."

Wonderingly, he lifted the antique key to examine it closer, feeling the weight in his hand. "I have seen you wear it always since your return, but I did not know its meaning."

She smiled slightly, burying her face in his shit so she could hear his heart beat. "Professor Kirke- Lord Digory- gave it to me. It belonged to his aunt. It meant somewhat different to her, would have meant somewhat different to me if I had stayed in England, but I came back, and its meaning changed, but I don't think she'd mind." She was babbling and she knew it, but she wasn't sure words existed to describe exactly what it had come to signify. "It's a key," she said stupidly, cursing her ineptitude. "It's my key, the key to me. It's the key to my heart, to my soul. To my love, and my laugh, and my passion. And it's yours now. I suppose it was really yours all along. I just couldn't give it to you yet."

Rather than thanking her- how do you thank someone for giving you a piece of themselves?- he pushed her gently against her doorway, cradling her face between his work-roughened hands. There were words, somewhere, but he didn't even bother to search for them; they could never be anything but inadequate. His forehead rested against hers, their breaths mingling.

"Caspian…"

He kissed her, a soft, sweet, lingering exploration that hinted at such terrible and wondrous promise. But when she would have deepened it, he pulled away. "Soon," he whispered, his lips brushing against her temple. "Soon. But for now, we must to our beds." He kissed her again softly. "Dream sweet, Beloved."

"And you, my love."

"My dreams are always sweet when they are of you," he told her, with one last kiss. "Good night."

She would have sworn she would be unable to sleep, but she as wrong. Wrapped in the scent of him, with his taste still lingering on her lips, she knew nothing else until Swiftly pounced her awake.

--

"If you fuss with that tunic anymore, you'll shred it."

Caspian glowered at the highly amused Trumpkin, but his hands did fall away from tugging on the white and gold brocade. Soon he would be out in front of his people, waiting for his bride…he'd be horrified later if he found out there was a bunch in his tunic, or something equally ridiculous.

Chuckling, Doctor Cornelius fixed the young king's clothing to lie straight, puffing the royal blue sleeves within the gaps of the tunic. No matter how he arranged the heavy crown, there was one small comma that obstinately fell forward over his brow. "You have the ring?"

"The ring? The ring!" Caspian gave him a panicked look.

Trumpkin grinned and produced it from the pocket of his vest. "Your hands will be filled with hers," he reminded him. "I have it safe until you need it."

The king had spent longer than he would have guessed with the dwarven artisans, trying to design the perfect ring for his bride. Ultimately, he'd chosen a delicate gold band, unadorned but for three small stones to remind her of her family: a ruby for Peter, an emerald for Edmund, and an amethyst for Lucy. It was simple, but he'd noticed that the few rings she wore tended to be so.

Taking a deep breath, Caspian pulled the key on its slender chain out from under his shirt, resting it against the brilliant blue fabric. It was Susan's color, as he thought of it.

"If it makes you feel better, she's probably just as nervous."

It did make him feel better, actually, though he wasn't sure it should.

In a small antechamber at the opposite end of the Great Hall, Susan was sitting on the floor. More accurately, she was sitting on her dressing robe, so as not to dirty her gown. But her knees were drawn as close to her chest as her corset would allow, her eyes were closed, and her forehead rested atop her folded arms.

Swiftly and the Mice didn't see anything particularly wrong with this, but Ivylight, Mathilde, and Drazina were exchanging worried looks. Finally, the Telmarine woman cleared her throat. "Your Majesty?"

"Yes?"

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." But she hadn't looked up, either.

Ivylight frowned and crossed her arms over her chest, studying the young woman on the floor. She'd been quiet all morning, which the healer had paid easily enough to nerves, but was it something more?

The queen did look lovely, though. Beyond lovely; she looked in the full flower of her legendary beauty, and knowing she would grow only more glorious still made Ivylight's heart ache to imagine it. Her white silk bodice was subtly embroidered with vines and flowers in white and the palest ice blue, the designs continuing onto the sheer fabric of the wide, loose sleeves that fell off the shoulders and down to her fingertips. Her full skirts fountained around her, the bottom six inches echoing the embroidery. Her delicate gold belt from the ball sat low about her hips, matching the crown atop her tumble of dark curls. Tiny white silk roses had been artfully knotted through the curls, pinpricks of ice against the sable fall, with Luckliter's feather a brilliant splash of color. Her neck looked bare without the key, but Ivylight hadn't wanted to ask what had happened to it.

Drazina glanced at Mathilde, then at the centauress. "Should we fetch Regent Trumpkin?"

"She'll be fine," announced a male voice from the doorway. "She was like this on her first day of school, too."

Susan's head snapped up, her cerulean eyes filled with fearful hope. "Peter?" she whispered. "Peter!"

Her elder brother grinned and stepped fully into the small room, dressed in the crimson and gold of the High King of Narnia. He grunted in surprise as he suddenly caught an armful of laughing sister. "It's good to see you too, Sus," he murmured, gently setting her back on her feet.

"You're really here," she breathed, touching his neatly trimmed blond hair wonderingly. "Oh, I'd hoped, but…"

"Oh, sure, as always Pete gets all the attention."

"Edmund!"

Despite his general dislike for the practice, Edmund met his sister's embrace with surpassing tolerance. He was in his preferred emerald and russet, his silver crown at a haphazard angle on his dark hair. He was as tall as he was now; had he been that way when she left?

A beaming Lucy bounced into the room and tackled her sister, losing her slender silver crown in the process. She thanked Peepiceek gravely when he retrieved it for her, spreading her lavender and violet skirts in a curtsey.

"Oh, Lucy!" Susan hugged her again, feeling tears burn in her eyes. "Oh, I'm so glad you're all here!"

"There's something else, too." Opening a small, flat jewelry box, Lucy pulled out a single strand of pearls, a carved ivory rose suspended from the middle. "It was Grandmother's; Mum was going to give it to you for your wedding." She smiled slightly, that wise humor so out of place in her little girl face. "This way, she still is."

"Luce…"

"Here, bend down so I can clasp it." Lucy fastened the necklace round her sister's throat, smoothing back the dark curls.

"Come on, Sus, you don't want to be late for your own wedding." Peter held out his arm. "It's time."

The fauns were playing the music, an ancient Narnian air. Caspian stood at the foot of the dais, a step down from the great golden Lion, his heart pounding in his chest. This was it, the moment he'd been dreaming of for almost five years.

The double doors opened to frame Lucy and Edmund, a shocked gasp leaping through the crowd. Caspian was as taken aback as anyone else, but he grinned as they slowly walked towards him. "Thank you, Aslan," he breathed.

He was answered by a deep purr.

With a bow and a curtsey, the two siblings parted a few feet away from the groom. Edmund moved to stand next to Doctor Cornelius, Lucy claiming a place by the gaping Trumpkin.

Then the grin faded, to be replaced by a look of breathless awe. Though he vaguely noticed Peter at her side, Caspian saw nothing but Susan as she stepped towards him down the aisle, her bare feet peeking out from under her skirts with each movement. Her smile was radiant and she locked eyes with him, raising an eyebrow to make him chuckle.

Peter gave his sister over to Caspian with a bow, moving to Edmund's side. He felt a pang at the transcendent joy on their faces as they joined hands, complete with the surety of their belonging. He hadn't found that yet, in either world; he could only hope he would.

Whiskers twitching, Aslan solemnly regarded the breathless couple, His golden eyes unblinking. They met His gaze with equal gravity, knowing He was seeing far more than they could ever understand. When He spoke, it was only for Susan and Caspian, but everyone gathered in the Hall could hear His words. "You have surmounted many obstacles to be standing here today, and have learned much of the true nature of love in the process. I needn't remind you of support and sacrifice, or loss and renewal, of strength and patience; these lessons are still fresh in your hearts. Your love is a blessing, dear ones; never forget that, even when dark times come. May every possible joy be on your union, for yourselves, for you the family you create, and for the people you lead."

He pressed His muzzle against their clasped hands, His sweet breath washing over them. And when Caspian drew Susan forward for their first kiss as husband and wife, He roared. It was a sound that shook the pennants snapping from the spires of Cair Paravel, that rippled across the long grasses and leading waves. It was a sound of joy and triumph, of pride and longing and love.

Always of love.

And through it all, Caspian and Susan remained oblivious, drowning in each other, now and forever.

Edmund gave a disgusted sigh, elbow resting on the hilt of his sword. "I still don't want to understand," he muttered, and Peter and Lucy snickered.

As the assembly cheered, the giddy couple exchanged rings, Susan pulling Caspian's off her thumb. Narnian weddings had always been her favorite, far more so than the Calormen, Archenlander, or Church of England ceremonies she'd witnessed. They were truly a celebration of what was important, rather than a catechism of duties and obligations. She stole another lingering kiss, ignoring Edmund's mock-gagging.

"I present to you King Caspian the Tenth and Queen Susan the Gentle, husband and wife!"

--

They spilled out into the courtyards, where tables groaned under the weight of the food prepared by the kitchens. It was a cold, clear day, with plenty of hot foods, spiced wines, and mulled cider to take the edge off the chill. It was laid out in a tended buffet, keeping the open areas free of tables, and thus free for dancing. Already, several musicians were playing, clustered close together for warmth.

Caspian whispered into Susan's ear and she nodded, smiling after him as he walked away.

Peter frowned. "Where's he off to?"

"Getting us all something to drink," she replied tartly, hands on her hips, "and giving the four of us a private moment together."

"Awfully decent of him," noted Edmund, giving Peter a sly nudge.

"How did you get here?"

"Aslan, of course!" giggled Lucy. "He was waiting for us as soon as we fell asleep."

"So this is just a dream?" the dark haired queen asked slowly. "I'll wake up and you won't be here anymore?"

"We're here, sure enough," Peter disagreed. "I think we should just leave it at that, without too much worrying."

"How long's it been?"

"Two months, for us."

"Mum and Dad?"

The three visiting Pevensies hesitated, and Susan's heart sank. It was Edmund who answered, with the painful fairness by which he'd upheld his title of the Just. "It's been rough on them, Sus. I don't suppose we've been helping, though; it's been hard to act as though you're dead when we know right well you're safe here."

"Or mostly safe," the eldest of them corrected. "Honestly, what were you thinking, throwing yourself on her wand like that?"

She blushed and promptly chided herself for it. "Well, what else was I supposed to do?"

"You had knives, you could have stabbed her."

"I might as well have kicked her for all the good it would have done."

"Bloody good strategy though," Edmund interjected, giving Peter a hard look. He understood it was hard the High King to be turning protection of his sister over to another, but there was no need to be an ass about it. "I never would have thought to use the phoenixes that way. And tucking the archers into trees? Brilliant!"

"I actually stole that idea from you,' Susan confessed. She absently twisted her wedding band about her finger, trying to adjust to the feeling of it. "One of the wars with the giants, you had all the archers tucked into the caves near the tops of the cliffs, remember? So they could pepper the giants' eyes?"

Caspian returned then, he and Trumpkin carefully balancing too many glasses. Laughing, the Pevensies helped them out, and soon everyone but Lucy had a glass of wine; she was still young enough yet for cider. The Telmarine held out a hand to the High King, which was taken firmly. "I am glad you could be here."

"If you don't keep her happy, I will find a way to come back and hurt you."

"Peter!"

But Caspian simply nodded. "Naturally."

Susan sighed and shook her head.

Lucy gave her sister a gentle shove. "Aren't you two ever going to dance so that the rest of us can?"

The king glanced down at the untouched glass in his hand, then at his bride, who gave him a wry look. He held the wine out to the younger queen. "Will you kindly do me the favor?"

Edmund took Susan's before she could even ask.

Husband and wife moved to the dancing are, Susan catching Caper's eye with a wink. The delighted faun wiggled his ears and spoke in a low voice to the Telmarines among the musicians.

The song that spilled forth was neither a waltz nor a Narnian air, but something nearly as ancient. It was a song of strength and passion, the song that every newly joined Telmarine couple danced at their wedding. One of Caspian's first clear memories was of his aunt telling him how beautifully his parents had danced at their wedding.

He gave Susan a startled look as she moved skillfully into a spin, their bodies flowing in effortless synchronicity.

She smiled, gently teasing him with her tone. "You have learned many of my customs and traditions since becoming king; did you really think I would learn none of yours?"

He didn't answer, giving her a smoldering look. Shivers shot down her spine that had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature. When he pulled her flush against him, he dropped a soft kiss onto her shoulder where it curved into her neck. "You awe me," he whispered.

The song finished and he claimed a kiss of her, which she willingly gave.

Their wine was eventually set on a table and forgotten as one dance became another and another. Caspian danced with Lucy while Peter danced with Susan, though Edmund cut in partway through just to make his brother stumble. There were songs with the professor, with Trumpkin and Caper, with Alafair and Presand and Giorgio. The kings danced with various ladies, laughing at Trumpkin's efforts to always be on the opposite side of the dancing from the determined Mathilde. With very little urging from Caper and Matthias, the guests were treated to the sight of both queens dancing with the fauns, their skirts flaring in every twirl. Though he neglected to warn her of it first, Swiftly started a game of pounce in time to a later song, the laughing Susan lifting her skirts to nimbly evade him. Mog's absence was a palpable thing between them, but as the sun glint off the charm on Susan's bracelet, it was also a tribute to him, to the graceful, clumsy, deadly playfulness of spirit he embodied.

Evening began to fall, lighting the sky on fire with a dizzying array of color. The Pevensies stopped and looked at each other, understanding without knowing how that the time had come to say goodbye. They clung to each other, and if Susan and Lucy wept, let us be fair and add that the boys were by no means dry-eyed.

"It's not forever, you know," Peter sniffed. "We'll all be together again soon."

"Not too soon, I hope," grumbled Edmund, and they all laughed at that, if a bit weakly.

But before they returned to the Great Hall, and from thence to England, Lucy sought out Trumpkin. "No worries, my dear little friend," she told him quietly. "We'll meet again."

This time it was the dwarf who reached out for a hug, embracing the young queen whose faith never wavered. "Take care of yourself, lass," he said gruffly, his blue eyes glittering with emotion.

Caspian slid his arms around Susan from behind, and together they watched Peter, Edmund, and Lucy disappear into the castle. They stood that way for a time in silence, listening to the sounds of celebration all around them. Finally, Caspian cleared his throat and spoke directly into her ear. "Do you think, if we were very careful, we might sneak away without them noticing?"

"I think they'd notice, laugh, and keep on dancing."

"Good enough." He grabbed her hand and tugged her into the castle, their laughter ringing through the empty halls.

They stopped outside his door just long enough for him to open it. Scooping her up in his arms, he carried her inside, kicking the door shut behind them. He set her down by the bed and they stared at each other breathlessly.

"Do you still think we would never have worked?" he asked impishly.

"It was just something to say," she muttered.

He gathered her close, enjoying the simple feeling of her in his arms. Brushing his lips against her temple, he nuzzled her dark curls, his voice soft. "Susan, my wife, my queen," he whispered. "Our love will last until the stars turn cold."

She pulled away to arch an eyebrow at him. "You've met retired stars; should I be worried?"

Susan laughed at his boggled expression, and kept laughing until he silenced her with a heated kiss. And one kiss became another, and another, and another.

Swiftly curled up in the hall outside their door with a disgruntled huff, draping his tail over his ears.


	15. Epilogue: Hush

**Disclaimer: As per the usual, I own nothing have to do with Narnia, except the various merchandise for which I paid money, rather than getting paid money, so please, no lawsuits.**

_A/N1: So here it is, the final installment! You guys really have been amazing, and thank you for all the reviews; your opinions really do matter to me, so leave me one last note to let me know what you think. I'm going to be taking a bit of a break to work on an original novel, but I'll be back with another story called Never Alone, in which our journey on the Dawn Treader lets us see a bit more of a character that Lewis rather overlooked. It won't be very soon, but keep an eye out for it._

_A/N2: Congrats to everyone who guessed the steals! The second one seemed to have a lot of you flummoxed. The first was, of course, from Realm of the Gods by Tamora Pierce; the second was from a fabulous movie that you all need to rent, called Singin' in the Rain._

**Epilogue**

** Hush**

_My dearest Rilian,_

_I knew you were a boy as soon as I felt the fist labor pain- how like a boy to choose the most inconvenient time to start being born! We were welcoming the new ambassador from Calormen when the pains began. Your father didn't even attempt to explain what was going on, leaving the poor man standing there in utter confusion until Trumpkin- with his usual bluntness- informed him that I was giving birth. The man promptly fainted._

_Your Nurse will probably fright you in years to come with how horrific my labor was. Whenever she suspects you to be disobedient or ungrateful (as all children occasionally are), Mathilde will scare you into tears with the story of those hours. By the time you read this letter, of course, and all the ones to follow, you'll be old enough to have got over it tolerably well, and to know that the difficulty was in no way your fault. In the Battle of Black Ice, as people have started calling it, I sustained a grave wound that- though long healed- still caused more than enough problems through the delivery._

_You will be my only child, Rilian, but I hope you never feel that lack. Already you've met some with whom I pray you'll always be friends: Lady Sushonna, only eighteen months old and already a charmer, and Windfall and Sunburst, Ivylight's twin foals._

_You're less than a day old, my darling, but you won't always be this young and small. We never know how much time is given to us, and though I don't intend to miss a single day, I don't there to ever be anything I wasn't able to say to you in one way or another. One day you'll read these letters; if I am still alive when you do, I shall to prepare myself for all sorts of questions, I am sure, but if I am not- if I am dead and my love watching over you from Aslan's Country- know that each letter, every word, is nothing more than 'I love you'. In everything I write, every breath I take, every word I speak, I love you, my son, my Rilian. Don't ever forget that. _

_Dark times come, and we survive them as best we can; no matter how dark the world around you, never forget my love. Let it be a beacon to give you strength and hope._

_There's so much I can only tell you, when I would give nearly everything to be able to show you instead. But, my words will have to be introduction enough to a family you'll never meet. I am sure they know of you, and they love you, and you will after all meet them eventually, at the end of all things. As you grow, you'll pepper your _

_father and me with questions about three of the thrones in the Great Hall, and I will tell you now the same thing I will tell you then: they are not empty. They are filled with memories._

_As you stand in the middle of the dais, behind your father's seat, the throne immediately to your left you'll recognize as mine (and oh! the fights we've had over whether or not to move it). The one immediately to your right is that of High King Peter (the Magnificent, history calls him, but his brother and sisters generally called him somewhat else). Peter tried very hard to protect all of us, never really understanding that some things are simply never meant to be prevented. But it's easy to forgive an older brother for being overprotective, and even easier to tease him for it when all is said and done. He and your father didn't get on at all at first, but they eventually learned a deep respect for each other. I think you've inherited his blond hair; right now, what little you've got is wispy and colorless, but I think it very likely._

_If you inherit only one other thing from Peter, I would hope it's his passion. Whatever Peter did, he did with passion, even if it turned out to be a mistake later. Never be afraid to take a risk, to truly live. Live every day with passion, son, with magnificent exuberance._

_Farther to your right will be your Uncle Edmund's throne, who was called King Edmund the Just. He didn't start out that way, of course, just as Peter didn't start out as Magnificent, Lucy wasn't always Valiant, and I certainly wasn't always Gentle. But Edmund never made the same mistake twice; he truly learned from his errors, and because of them, he did not judge others by theirs. His fairness and honesty, though at times painful and hard to bear, were a rock to lean upon._

_That gift I would give you, my son. If you could employ it with a bit more tact than your uncle usually did…well, we were young, after all. Never be afraid to speak to the heart of a matter, as a man or as a king. The truth is what sets us free, but it is rarely meant to be easy._

_If you turn your head to my throne again, you'll see past it the royal seat of your Aunt Lucy. My sister would have driven me grey before my time, I think, constantly kidnapping you to introduce you to the trees and trying to teach you fauns' dances before you could walk. But she also would have been the one to stand over your bed late at night, long after you were asleep, and on her aulos she would have played lullabies nearly as ancient as the singing of the world to keep bad dreams from you._

_And it's from Lucy I would have you learn your greatest, most important lesson: faith. Her faith and belief were absolutely unshakable, even when we mistakenly belittled her into not following it. But she always believed. Believe, Rilian, even when all the world tells you not to. _

_As you grow up, and as I write more letters, you'll hear me speak of many people, some of whom you'll know. But there is one other in particular I would have you know as well as ink will allow, and that is Lahatiel, your aunt not by blood but by virtue of being the sister of my heart. I will tell you the whole of her story, so far as I know it, at another time. There is no specific lesson I would have you learn from Lahatiel, though she has many to teach. Friendship can arise in some of the most unlikely places: treasure it. Under no circumstances would I have imagined we would become as close as we did, but imagination is such a limited thing when the truth is so much more vast. I miss her still, but that kind of loss is never a thing to regret. All people pass, in one way or another; treasure the precious time you have with them, and look forward to when you shall see them again._

_I wish I could protect you. From where I sit even now, I can see you sleep. Your father is sprawled out atop the blankets, his clothes in disarray, snoring softly as he does when he's most exhausted. You're curled up on his chest, your fist in your mouth, and one of his large hands lies gently across your tiny back, clasping you to him. He loves you just as much as I do, you know, if I don't say it as often as I should. Birthing rooms are traditionally no place for men, so he scandalized the entire Court by staying with me the entire time. He didn't even complain when I accidentally broke his finger; silly man should have known better than to give his hand to a woman in pain._

_I wish I could protect you, Rilian, but I can't; not so well as I should like. You will know darkness and heartache and betrayal. You will know loss and sorrow. You will know violence and death and destruction and pettiness and every evil thing. That is life, and to try to shield you from that…you would not be living, but merely existing. You will know all these things and more, but you will also know love and joy and light. You will know reunion and laughter. You will know peace and life and creation and nobility and every __good__ thing. Just don't be afraid of it, and never take it for granted. _

_You are the best thing I can give to this world, my son. I will tell you every day that I love you, and write it again every evening once you've fallen asleep, but though I live a hundred years I'll never be able to say it enough. I love you, and that love will always be watching over you. In the good times and the bad, in the rain and the sun, in the heights and the depths, in every possible scope of life, my love will be watching over you. Never, ever forget that. _

_Love,_

_Always Love,_

_Your Mother_

Carefully re-folding the first letter, Rilian could not be ashamed of the tears streaming down his face. It had been ten years since he'd lost her, ten enchanted, disconnected years, and the grief was just as fresh as ever, coupled with the new pain of losing his father.

And yet, his mother's words ringing through his head, they weren't really lost. They were waiting for him, watching over him.

Loving him.

And at least he'd gotten to say goodbye.

Tied into neat packets in his mother's study, there were twenty years of letters. Twenty years of fathomless love and understanding. He would read them all, and soon, but he held this first letter to his chest and stared about the queen's chambers in newly rediscovered awe.

He'd learned to walk in these chambers, pulling himself up by Swiftly's tail and tottering after the long-suffering Leopard. He'd laughed and cried and chattered in these rooms, hanging on to his endlessly patient mother, who'd kept the chambers after her marriage to have a place of her own to retreat to.

Laying the letter on the desk, Rilian crossed through the bedroom and out onto the balcony overlooking the eastern ocean, where his father had sailed more than once. Below him, he could see a gardener tenderly transplanting a russet rosebush over the fresh grave, skillfully twining it through the branches of the white rosebush that had been waiting there for a decade. After a ten year separation, his parents were together again.

Rilian had grown up knowing theirs was an uncommon love, and he had faith that they were even now reunited in Aslan's Country.

Faith…he had lost it for a time, but he thought of the mother he missed more than anything, of the aunt he had never met, and he knew he would be forgiven for it. Sometimes the finding of faith was as important as the having of it.

King Rilian, son of Caspian the Navigator and Susan the Gentle, two of the greatest rulers Narnia had ever had, slowly breathed the air of home. With his return, there was a great deal to do, and much to learn and explain, but for this single moment, he simply was.

He was home.


End file.
